The Queen's Favor
by anamatics
Summary: The queen's favor is given to few, even fewer when the queen has a reputation for being heartless and cruel. A traveler has been having dreams about searching for something that no longer exists in this world, except where you least expect to find it.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One – The Dream & The Boy**

The forest was unrelenting. The evenly-spaced trees that grew in rows by the side of the road - planted in an effort to increase visibility and reduce deforestation decades ago - had long-since faded away to a tangle of vine-laden overgrowth so thick the very sky was obscured. The lone road that cut through its heart was full of brambles and knarled trees, their boughs reaching downwards. Stories told that they were meant to grab hold of wayward travelers, to hold them fast until the forest's mistress could come and collect the road's toll.

This area was known for the old tales of the forest mistress and her wicked tress. Their lies and truth growing into fable as the years dwindled into memory. The lore set travelers against this path, made them nervous as there was always tell of people vanishing, of lights in the dark. Enough to put people off of the place for good.

The stories said that even the woodland creatures that called the forest home feared its heart. Food was plentiful, but there was a sense of danger there, always, lurking just below the surface.

No birds chirped in the wood. The road was silent as a single, solitary figure lead a nervous horse gingerly down the overgrown path. The only sound that could be heard was the swish of blade hitting branch and twisted greenery. Sword in hand, the traveler hacked away at the vines and bushes that had grown into the path. It was slow going, the effort clearly taxing on the traveler. This was not the purpose of the sword, its owner, nor of the horse. They were bred for war and for fighting. A simple trek through the dense forest was far more taxing than had been initially anticipated.

The horse whinnied low, snorting as it struck its hoofs angrily at the ground. The forest was too quiet, and the placating hand of the traveler on its neck did little to calm him.

Lowering the hood that obscured much of the traveler's face brought into vision the visage of a young woman. Sweat lined her brow, her hay-colored hair held in place by a series of intricate twists that formed a plait down her back secured with several leather ties. Her eyes were alert, but the bags under them gave away her weariness. This journey was to be a long one, and already this place was taking its toll.

"Shhhh," she whispered to her horse. The beast's panicked breathing was setting her senses into overdrive, despite the oppressive silence of this place. The air felt thick and heavy, mist of the rain from above barely making it down into the damp underbelly of the forest floor. She inhaled, nostrils flaring wide as her horse's, something was different here. A scent. The trail moving ever onward, she gripped her sword tightly and leveled her gaze at the horse. "You keep that up; we'll never find her," her tone was stern, and the horse's ears flicked backwards in irritation before it resumed pawing moodily at the ground.

This place made her nervous. Stories said the forest mistress was a harsh woman, not overly fond of trespassers in her sanctuary. The traveler worried at her lip, blinking in the dim light.

Each of her steps was labored under the despite the minimal weight of her lightly padded leather armor and the effort to clear a path for them both. The magic of this place was oppressive; she felt powerless as her footfalls seemed to echo in the silent wood. Her horse followed dutifully, it was a good stead - belonging to her father. It was on loan; as this was a journey that could only be completed by one person, on one strong steed.

Memories swam to the surface in a wood like this. The traveler slid her sword into the scabbard buckled across her back and pulled her hood back up over her head. The rain was beginning to trickle down to their level again; they had gotten through the worst of it. There was no sense leading a spooked horse when it was faster to run through this place. She swung herself up into the saddle and shifted her knees back to pull the stirrups down and slam her feet home into the metal there. Urgency gripped her as the very forest seemed to close in around her.

The traveller's black cloak streamed out behind her as she urged the horse below her into a canter and then a full gallop. The road was clearer here and the way was safe once more. She rode hard, as if the very demon she was tracking snapped at her heels.

Her mission was the same as it had always been. She had to find her queen, to serve her dutifully and honor the favor she'd been given long ago. A simple brush of fingers against her forehead and screams were her only memories of that time. She could feel the presence of her queen, dancing, unbidden, at the barest corners of her consciousness.

_Find them_. The voice in her mind begged her._ Go to your queen_.

On the morning of her twenty-eighth birthday, Emma Swan woke up in a tangle of sweat-soaked sheets, hand reaching for a sword that was not there. She recoiled backwards against the headboard as her body jerked fully into wakefulness. Her breath came heavy to her lips as she tried to force her mind to wake up, to push past whatever it was that plagued her dreams.

A rueful smile grew across her face after a moment. The sword. She still always went for the sword, in some sick and twisted homage to Xena. Emma blinked the remainder of the sleep from her eyes and peered owlishly around the room.

Her apartment was quiet, sunlight peeking around the half-closed curtains. She let her head fall backwards onto the wall behind her bed. _That dream, again._ It had been weeks since she'd had one, and now it was starting to look as though the peace that she'd thought she'd found in this tiny, Boston apartment was starting to crumble. The dream came before the need to move, always.

Emma ran a hand through her hair and winced as her hand hit a snarl. It was a shame, she'd rather liked Boston: the town was full of culture that Tallahassee and Phoenix had not had - but not the level of depressed despair that cities like Detroit and Cleveland had possessed. There were good people here, Irish and Italian. The whole city was Catholic to the bone and Emma found solace in their faith. The churches were beautiful and provided a sanctuary that remained unchanged from her earliest memories. They were the one place where the dreams that plagued her seemed to be in line with the reality of her life.

"Shit," she muttered, gathering her knees to her chest and trying to shake the dream from her mind. She was searching, always searching, for whatever it was that the dreams forced upon her. The memories of the sword and the horse, of a task that clearly had no place in this day and age.

More than once, Emma had considered purchasing a laptop and sitting down actually writing out the stories from her dreams. She'd make a small fortune, she figured, but she'd never had much skill with the written word. It was easier to just push the dreams from her memory than to try to figure out what they meant.

It was nearly noon; her alarm clock was flashing the time but was silent. She must have hit the snooze button one too many times and the device had simply given up on her all together. She shook her head and flicked the alarm switch back to its off position. There was no reason for her to be up early. She'd done the majority of the work she'd needed to for this particular job the previous evening. The plan for tonight was the final part – the collection and the bringing in of the scumbag who'd stepped out on his wife's hard-earned bail money.

She sighed and shoved the covers off of herself – she had things to do today before she went out on the date she'd arranged with man who'd skipped town. She'd been tracking him since he'd left Concord, headed for Boston where he'd thought he could just disappear for a while. Shame he liked women so much, because if he had just kept eyes to himself, she might not have found him for a few more days.

Emma pulled off the ratty t-shirt that she'd been sleeping in and headed for the shower. Today was going to be a long enough day without the dreams distracting her. She didn't have time for whatever it was that they were clearly trying to tell her. The scent had shifted anyway, she'd be moving on soon enough.

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For as long as Emma Swan could remember, her dreams had always told parts of what seemed to be the same story. They'd started when she was a child, and had continued on her entire life. There was a blissful two year period in Tallahassee where she'd been remarkably free of them. She'd moved there after Phoenix, and, for a while, everything had seemed good again. She'd had a steady address for nearly two years; a job, even friends (to an extent). That peace all shattered when they'd returned, stronger than ever.

Find the queen, find the sword, protect the favor freely given to no one save herself.

It sounded like something straight out of the Disney movies she'd watched as a kid and Emma wanted nothing to do with it. She wanted a life that didn't involve moving constantly, or the constant feeling of searching for something that she could never quite find. She knew that her dreams were probably caused by a rough childhood and the nagging feelings of abandonment that she'd dealt with her entire life. It was a problem that many orphans faced, made even stronger by the lack of consistent parenting during their childhood.

Emma was personally quite proud of herself for not needing to pay a shrink two hundred bucks an hour to tell her that. She'd figured out the dreams at eighteen, when she'd been in the worst situation of her life. The queen was her mother, the sword an analogy for her father's love, and whatever the 'favor' she supposedly sought was their honor and affection.

Her job had gone well today. She'd managed to get the creep back to Concord and stop by a bakery on her return trip home. It was her birthday, after all; she had to have something of a cake. Her three months in Boston had done little to alleviate the whole no-friends situation, and her fellow bonds-people were all men and sort of sketchy men at that. Celebrating with them would only lead to potentially bad things – like her drunkenly sleeping with one of them and they were really, really, not Emma's type.

Her feet were killing her and taking off her shoes was something akin to nirvana as she set her single, solitary cupcake on her kitchen counter and found the half-gone box of candles that had traveled with her through the past two or three years. She couldn't remember where she'd gotten them, but a single candle on a single cupcake was her birthday and she was damn sure going to enjoy it.

_Make a wish, Emma_. The voice she could barely remember echoed in her mind and Emma lit the candle. She closed her eyes and tried to think of what she wanted. Her life was good; she'd just gotten paid – and the pay for it was as handsome as this guy was very obviously guilty of his crimes. The Concord Police Department had been quite happy to see her bringing the guy in, and had cut her a check on the spot. She had money, an apartment, steady work. This place - this place could actually settle her.

But the compulsion she had to leave, to go out searching for that thing that she could never find, that never went away. Searching, searching, always desperate to keep moving when the answers were not readily provided.

_I wish I could find what I'm looking for._

She blew out the candle gently; she'd worked in enough bakeries and restaurants in her time to know that if she blew too hard, she'd get candlewax everywhere. She opened her eyes slowly and reached forward to pull the candle out of the frosting that topped her poor cupcake. Her fingers closed around the candle to pull it out when there was a knock at the door that damn near scared her out of her skin. Her hand slipped and she ended up dunking her finger into the thick frosting.

Good lord, if a fucking Jehova's Witness or something was outside she was going to scream. Emma jammed her finger into her mouth to get the frosting off and padded over to her door. She peered out of the peephole but couldn't see anyone there. She hadn't ordered anything, and no one delivered at nine thirty at night anyway.

She pulled the door open, peering up and down the hallway, only to find a young-looking child staring expectantly up at her. "Are you Emma Swan?" he asked, his tone was inquisitive but guarded. Smart kid, though it probably wasn't smart for him to be alone at night knocking on a stranger's door.

"Yeah," she said quietly, starting at him. He looked oddly familiar, like she'd seen him before. She didn't know where, she couldn't place him. Usually that meant that she saw a resemblance to someone from one of her dreams, which was usually a sign that it was time to move on. She couldn't do this again, not now, not ever. It was too scary and unwelcome.

His face brightened and he pushed passed her and stepped into the apartment. Kicking off his shoes and setting them next to Emma's instrument-of-medieval-torture heels, he spun on her wood floor. Grinning, he announced, "My name's Henry, I'm your son."

The color drained from Emma's face and she let her hand slide down the door slowly until it came to rest in a white-knuckled grip on the door handle.

She didn't _have_ a son. She'd made sure of that ten years ago when she had signed the adoption papers. She hadn't been ready then and she wasn't even sure that she was ready now.

Emma pushed the door closed and exhaled slowly. "Give me a minute," she said. The bottom of her stomach felt like it was about to push its way through her throat and out of her mouth. Bile was already threatening the inevitable fear-induced dry-heaving that she'd though she'd gotten over years ago. No, no, she couldn't do this. There was a kid who'd obviously run away from his home life to find her. Panic attacks over exposure of a secret kept long buried were helping no one.

Running a hand through her hair, Emma bit her lip and stared into her living room._ Shit,_ she thought. _He probably has a worried mother at home waiting for him._

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Henry Mills came from the town of Storybrooke, Maine. Consulting Google Maps had given Emma an estimate of four hours if they drove the distance that he'd taken by bus earlier that morning. He'd refused to give her his phone number and confiscating his backpack had revealed no contact information, only the remains of a very healthy and lovingly prepared lunch. There were some school papers but no one would be at a school that late at night, so Emma was forced to resort to threats and bribery with ice cream to get the kid's number out of him.

She had to call his mother and let her know that she'd found her son. It was the only thing to do, especially with Henry babbling on about how his mother was an evil witch – or queen? Emma honestly was having trouble keeping his fantastic rambling straight. "Look," she said, rummaging in her freezer and pulling down a container of Chunky Monkey. "I will let you eat the rest of this if you give me your phone number, Henry."

He appeared conflicted for a moment, before reaching for the ice cream and reciting a phone number so quickly that Emma's fingers were flying across her phone at a rate that would make most crazy teenagers jealous. Raising the phone to her ear she listened to the ringing once, twice, finally, on the third ring, someone picked up.

"Hello?" the voice was unaccented, but Emma could detect a hint of fear in it. She wondered who this mother was that Henry didn't like so much. She couldn't have been that bad, as the fear and anxiety contained in that one word alone spoke volumes about the mental state of the woman on the other line.

"Um… hi?" Suddenly, she felt tongue-tied, like she didn't know what she was supposed to say in such a situation. She handed Henry a spoon and stepped into her bedroom and closed the door. "My name's Emma Swan, I'm a bondsman out of Boston. I think I've found your son."

"Henry?" Her breath caught in her throat and Emma could hear it hitch ever so slightly. "Oh my god, you've found him?" There was an almost hysterical pitch to the woman's voice now. "Where is he?"

"Boston," Emma explained quietly, for some reason she did not want Henry to hear her telling his mother that he'd run away in so many words. "Said he took a bus. Look, I need your address and directions so that I can bring him back."

The woman's breath stilled on the other end of the line and it adopted a steely undertone. "Who are you, exactly?"

"Ma'am, it's my job to find people and bring them back to where they're supposed to be," Emma explained. She understood the apprehension of trusting a total stranger with a child. She ran a tired hand through her hair. "I'm going to give you a number that you can hang up and call, I do a lot of work for the Concord Police Department, and they will vouch for my creditability. All I want to do is get him safely back to you and figure out what he was doing in Boston in the first place." Emma dug in her pocket and pulled out the business card of the detective she'd been working with on and off for the past few months. She rattled off that number and then her own, as well as her address.

"So help me, if you have taken my son, I will have every branch of law enforcement surrounding your home," Mrs. Mills said before hanging up the phone. Emma bent down and grabbed a duffle out from under her bed. She'd rented the place furnished, and it was very impersonal even now. She threw an armful of clothes from the hamper into it and headed for the bathroom.

"Are you going somewhere?" Henry asked, licking the chocolate ice cream off of his spoon. His feet were swinging from his chair, collar perfectly in place. He looked clean and well-fed, certainly not under any threat from an evil queen. Generally, if Emma remembered the stories right, they liked to eat small children or starve them.

Emma shook her head. "No," she explained. "You, however, are going home and you live four hours from here so I'll need to spend the night before I drive back as it's already -" Emma glanced at the clock on her microwave. "Nearly ten." She gestured towards the door, "Put your shoes back on."

Henry looked incredibly put-out, his chin jutting outwards and pouting in an expression that clearly looked far more like one that Emma knew graced her face far more often than it should. The expression, a put-out pout, set Emma ill at ease – she still was not ready to accept that this child may actually be her own. She shook herself violently and tried to rid her mind of the idea of her face on that child. It was too scary, too completely and utterly terrifying. She didn't want this. Not now, not ever.

The kid put his used spoon in the sink and put the cap back on the ice cream. He handed it to Emma, who shoved it back into the freezer as he disappeared down the hallway towards where he'd removed his shoes.

Her phone rang, buzzing violently in her ear and she raised it to her ear in a heartbeat. "Swan," she said.

"Ms. Swan, it seems that you have an impeccable record for someone in your line of work and come very highly recommended," Mrs. Mills' voice seemed to be even colder than it had been before. Emma bit her lip, trying not to retort. She just wanted to get this kid back home. "I would suggest you start driving, as Henry has school tomorrow. I will be waiting up."

Emma swallowed, fear cutting deeply into her stomach. She didn't know why the woman didn't want her to turn Henry over to the police; she wasn't a cop and therefore could not technically be trusted under the blanket-umbrella of public servant. It seemed illogical that the kid's mom wouldn't be speeding her way towards Boston at that very minute. Emma supposed that her contacts up in Concord must have given her a pretty stellar reference if this woman wasn't even remotely perturbed by the idea of her driving Henry back to Maine. Not wanting to anger Mrs. Mills further, she chose the neutral path, "Of course. Will Henry know the way?"

The woman's voice had again taken on a hysterical sound. "He's a child who _ran away_ to Boston, of all god-forsaken places. If he has any idea what's good for him he'll know his address. You have my number if he doesn't." With that, the line went dead.

Emma pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it for a moment before turning her attention back to Henry. "Your mom's pretty intense, kid."

"She's not my mom," Henry insisted, jaw again stubbornly jutting out again. His insistence on this fact made Emma wonder if his home life left something to be desired or if he just was the sort of little shit of a kid that made parents crazy. His rattling on about fairy tales seemed to indicate the latter, so Emma tried not to judge his mother too harshly. She seemed intense, if guarded.

_Perfectly reasonable for a mother whose son had run away nearly two hundred miles to a major metropolitan area. Yes, _Emma nodded as she grabbed her wallet and keys out of the basket where she usually kept them. _ Perfectly reasonable indeed._

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"Snow White and Prince James, well, _Prince Charming_, if you read the stories," Henry was explaining as Emma pulled off I-295 in Brunswick and headed towards Route One. "They had a child, and on the day she was born the Evil Queen cast a powerful curse over everyone. Snow White and Prince Charming saved their child by putting her in a magic wardrobe-"

"And sending her to Narnia?" Emma wanted to know. She had no idea how far up the coast Storybrooke was, but Route One was at least well-known enough to her that she was able to navigate it pretty easily. The town itself was up past South Bristol, about sixty miles from there. She bit her lip, as it was growing on one o'clock in the morning already. She did not want to be late to meet Henry's mother.

She wasn't buying the kid's story in the slightest, but at least he seemed reasonably good-natured about her casual disbelief.

"No! Narnia is a different world from this one _and_ the one that Snow White and the others are from," Henry's tone was impatient, and Emma couldn't help but turn to look at him. His arms were folded and he was scowling.

He looked just like her.

"Okay, so this fairy tale land is separate from all other fairytale lands, but they're all there?" Emma felt like it was a reasonable question.

Henry made an affirmative noise. "Snow White gave you away so that you could save everyone in this world," he explained. "The Evil Queen's curse cannot survive the sword Prince Charming threw into her heart iand/i the one person who is foretold to break the curse all at once!"

Sword. Emma perked up at the mention of a sword, probably because of the dream. Swords were a constant symbol in her life, and she was sure that if she'd been born in a time when they were commonly in use that she would have been quite proficient with them. If she'd had a better childhood, maybe she would have begged a foster parent to let her take up kendo or fencing.

Henry's voice filled the car as Emma drove. The miles fell away behind them as they drove through wind and rain, north into the coastal forests of Maine. The road had become more and more narrow as they got off Route One and headed down a smaller side road that was unmarked. Henry had pointed out the turn off where the bus stop was, and soon Emma's old Volkswagen was rumbling its way past a sign reading 'Welcome to Storybrooke.'

The town itself was quiet and sleepy-seeming. Even during the day, Emma reasoned, it wouldn't be that busy. They drove by a school and a grocery store, and then a series of smaller shops and restaurants, finally drawing level with a lone streetlight flashing between orange and red.

Once, when Emma was sixteen and just learning how to drive, she'd rolled through a blinking yellow light and had ended up with a seventy dollar ticket and a reputation for running lights. Not wanting to take that chance, she slowed to a crawl, downshifting back to first gear. "Which way," she asked Henry.

For a moment, it looked like Henry wasn't going to tell her. He was biting at his lower lip and scowling angrily. The car sat idle at the intersection for a long moment before Henry jutted his chin off in the direction of a more residential looking street. Emma smiled, and continued on.

The house that they ended up parked in front of was a large colonial looking piece of work. It was easily the biggest on the block and certainly the most dominating of the street. "Is your mom the mayor or something?" Emma asked Henry as he reluctantly gathered his things.

Henry looked fearful for a moment, but then nodded once jerkily.

_Great._

Emma shook her head and ran her hand tiredly through her hair. It was too late for this shit and she was not in the mood to make a first impression either. Playing nice when she was dog-tired was going to be hard enough as it is, but add to that the fact that she was apparently the kid's birth mother and that he obviously didn't get along that great with his actual mom... Well, she'd be lucky not to be run out of town.

"Henry?" A woman's voice called from the doorway. Emma straightened from the driver's side of the car, turning her key in the lock quickly and squinting at the disheveled-looking woman who had come sprinting down the front walkway to scoop the kid up in her arms. "Henry!" Her hands were on his cheeks on his neck, in his hair, smoothing down his bangs and pulling him in tight to a hug he stubbornly refused to return.

Emma bit her lip and scowled: ungrateful kid didn't know how good he had it.

"Thank you for bringing him back," Mrs. Mills said, straightening and handing Henry off to a uniformed man with a gun and a badge strapped to his belt. He must have been the town sheriff - smart of her to have him here when Emma was due to arrive. One could really never be too careful. She stepped forward and held out her hand. "Regina Mills."

She had no ring on her finger, and that gave Emma pause. Most of the adoption agencies that she had spoken with said that they preferred to adopt children out to full families with two parents rather than individuals. No ring meant that she was wrong in calling the woman missus mentally as well. She winced at that. It was stupid to assume such things.

"Emma Swan," Emma responded in kind, her hand reached out to grasp the woman's. There was something there, in the brief moment that their hands touched; a feeling of recognition that shook Emma to her core. Unlike with Henry, where it was a resemblance that had clued Emma in to the fact that there was a connection, this was a purely visceral reaction. It settled in at the pit of her stomach almost instantly and set Emma ill at ease. "Henry says that I'm his birth mother."

"What?" Regina Mills scowled and withdrew her hand. Wrapping her arms around herself, she glared in Emma's direction and added, "The adoption was closed."

"I know," Emma replied, "I wanted it that way. I have no idea how he found me or if I really am his biological mother. Regardless, how the hell did he get all the way to Boston without you noticing, Ms. Mills?"

"I believe I can answer that," The sheriff had returned. His hand was resting on his gun, and the strap holding it into place was undone. Emma didn't want any trouble so she inclined her head towards him. "Henry bought the ticket from a school computer yesterday and left this morning as he always does for school. He simply did not get on the bus and by the time the school called to notify Ms. Mills that her son had not arrived he was already halfway to Portland."

Regina Mills gave a long-suffering sigh. "Enough. Graham, I'll see you tomorrow. Ms. Swan, would you like to come in for a few moments? I just pressed one of my first cider batches of the season – it's the best in the county."

Emma raised her eyebrows at that claim, but inclined her head judiciously. She had to play it safe with this woman, at least for now. She seemed perfectly harmless, but that feeling that had settled at the base of Emma's stomach was still there. "Got anything stronger? It's been a crazy night."

"So it has, dear." Ms. Mills agreed, turning and leading Emma into her house. "So it has."

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_Did you know, did you know?_

When Snow White and Prince James' baby was born, the Evil Queen enacted a curse so terrible it required the most ultimate of sacrifices. As the baby was brought into this world, the queen nursed a wound left to fester for nearly a year. She embraced the pain of the princes' sword that had cut through her heart on his wedding day. She'd taken the weapon inside herself, a constant reminder of who she had once been and who her true enemies were.

On the day of the birth of Snow White's child, the queen stole ahead of the curse that she'd created to look upon the child. There was little time, and the effort to magically move herself and the curse were taking its toll. The child slept, freshly washed, as her mother and father recovered from the ordeal of birthing a child under such stress.

The corner of queen's lip curled upwards, and she reached down, intent to end the child's life before it could truly begin. It would make her curse all the sweeter, she reasoned. Magic could do many things, but it could not bring back the dead. It would be perfect, to see Snow White so lost and so alone, without the child she had tried so desperately to save.

Something gave the queen pause then: the sensation of the sword in her heart pulling forth once more. The sword had stood in place for nearly a year, keeping steady the dull ache of revenge. It was a weapon far more formidable than the curse that sped towards this castle even now; infused with a magic so ancient that even the great witches and wizards of the day scarce understood it.

The pull in her chest and her moment of hesitation opened the Evil Queen's eyes to another possibility. The child was special, and in a fit of benevolence not characteristic of her wicked ways, the queen pressed her thumb to the child's forehead. "You will always have my favor," she whispered, her breathing even more labored than before.

For a queen to bestow favor to one so young is a grave risk indeed. Should the child die before they come to majority, the favor would be lost, and with it any chance of a soul's redemption. To bestow favor means to command loyalty, but it does not mean subservience. The queen thought that in taking such a thing and giving it to this child, she would force the child – should it survive – to forever be her servant.

Instead the Evil Queen lay the very ground work of her own undoing. For, you see, only one with favor can draw the sword from the queen's heart to defend her against those who would wish to oppose her.

_Have you heard? Have you heard?_

* * *

Okay, if any of you guys are familiar with my other vaguely-au-mostly-canon stories, you'll know that I tend to play fast and really loose with canon. This means that even stuff that did happen in the show is up to some mild interpretation. I want to say a huge thank you to Lucas, who went through and helped me with all my run-on sentences and semi-colon abuses. Also he told me that writing a story with shades of Utena mixed with some of my own rather convoluted headcanon regarding this how was a good plan, so thanks, man.

Next: Mary Margaret and The Castle


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two – Mary Margaret & The Castle**

The road was a long-since forgotten idea here. Her horse had grown weary from the exertion from constant movement. The traveler slowed her mount to a walk and ducked her head under a low-hanging branch. She had finally come to the clearing that she'd heard tell of for many years.

Before her was a low, flat rock jutting up and out of the mud and grime of the forest floor. Dead leaves littered the ground around it, the white caps of mushrooms forming a near-perfect circle around the rock. Sunlight streamed down through a gap in the trees overhead casting the stone and its fairy ring of white-capped mushrooms in an almost eerie glow.

The traveler was not sure if this was the destination she had intended to arrive at. She'd been following a feeling buried deep within her, spurring her horse on as she chased after the solution to why she was searching, always searching. She didn't know what pushed her onwards, into the darkness and the unknown, but the compulsion was buried deep within her.

This place was different; it had an air of finality about it that the traveler was unaccustomed to on her journeys.

She could taste the tangy flavor of lingering magic on her tongue with each breath. It tasted of blood, the coppery taste clinging to about her senses and setting the traveler ill at ease. She was a warrior, and even the inherent magical nature of a place such as this was enough to raise her defenses.

Her horse tossed its head backwards, as if to escape the smell of the magic and she laid a placating hand on his neck. "Shhh," she intoned quietly, fingers tangling in in carefully groomed mane. She could not afford a spooked horse right now. This place held enough danger without a terrified animal added to the mix.

The traveler's black cloak spilled out behind her as she slid down off of her horse's back and drew her sword and stepped into the clearing. Each footstep was ginger as she lead her steed over to a low hanging branch. She tied her reins carefully, cooing at the horse as she stepped away from it.

This might not have been the destination that she'd had in mind when she'd set out on her journey, but it was _a_ destination. The traveler's sword was perfectly level as her boots padded quietly across the clearing. She breached the barrier of the fairy-ring and swallowed as magical energy crackled all-around her.

Taking a deep breath, she drank in the power - feeling it swirl and circle around her. It drew her upwards, onto the rock, her leathers creaking as she scrambled up and onto the raised, flat surface. The magic here was sentient, it knew her here.

The traveler raised her hands outwards towards the edges of the clearing and tentatively lowered her shields, letting the power wash over her. The scent was strong here; she would find what she was looking for here. Here in this most secret of places.

Emma Swan woke up in a sweaty, tangled mess of blankets that clung to her skin as she tried to kick them off of her. _That_ dream had been particularly jarring, and she could still smell the stale, metallic smell of that clearing as she peered owlishly around the small room at that she'd procured for the week.

After she'd returned Henry to his mother, she'd attempted to leave once again. She'd downed two Red Bulls at the town's lone service station to try and stave off the very strong drink that the Mayor had mixed her and had headed south once more.

There had been a - something - in the road that had prevented her leaving and in the process of doing so, she'd managed to dent her poor car and take out a historic piece of signage. All in a day's work, Emma reasoned, wincing at how much it had cost to repair the sign. She'd offered to do the work herself, she'd gotten pretty handy with power tools over the years, but the city council was having none of that, so Emma was forced to pay the town's carpenter out of pocket to repair it.

She hadn't wanted to stay, but Henry had run away the following day and Emma had found herself staring down his mother and wondering if maybe, just maybe, the feeling that she'd felt the first time she'd met Regina Mills was just the misplaced emotions that she had buried long ago.

There was a quiet tapping at the door and Emma found herself groaning and rolling out of the rickety cast-iron bed and stumbling towards the door.

She was expecting Ruby, the granddaughter of the elderly woman who ran the Bed and Breakfast, or maybe the proprietress herself at the door. Certainly not a basket full of apples attached to a rather smug-looking Regina Mills.

"For your journey home," she said by way of explanation, glancing down Emma's bare legs and tank top. The corner of her lip turned upwards and she added, her disdain evident in her voice, "Perhaps next time you answer a door, you'll make sure you're decent, Ms. Swan?"

Emma backed away from the door sheepishly and reached for the jeans she'd left slung over the foot of the bed the previous evening. "Sorry," she mumbled sleepily. It was far too early for her to be attempting to comprehend Regina Mills. Her mind was still running circles around the dream she'd had, trying to figure out what a fairy ring even fucking was and how she'd come to know exactly how powerful such rare occurrences were.

She wasn't like the kid - _Henry_ - she didn't live and breathe fairy tales and other stories like them. Magic didn't exist for a good reason, this world didn't want it.

The woman peered down her nose at Emma as she sat down on the side of the bed and began to pull her boots on. "Don't bother, I won't be staying long."

Emma glanced up then, head tilting off to the left as it sometimes did when she was thinking. It was strange to have someone of such local importance gracing her bedroom as she was half-dressed and just waking up. It was just past eight in the morning, and Emma was not a morning person. "I-" she began, staring at the basket of apples in the Mayor hands. "I thought I might stay, for a few days." She ran a shaky hand through her hair and added, "The kid's already proven that he's pretty resourceful when it comes to getting away from you. Maybe if I stick around, talk him down from whatever this obsession with fairy tales has lead him to believe about his life here - about _you_ - he'll be better for it."

"You'll find that you gave up all rights to make decisions about Henry's well-being when you gave him up ten years ago," The Mayor retorted without so much as a beat to consider what Emma was saying. Her lips were pressed into a thin line and her eyes were the dark and stormy eyes of someone very much at war with themselves.

Emma knew that look, knew what it meant and knew that she would make no headway. Still, she could not back down from a challenge. Regina Mills brought out a particular breed of stubbornness in Emma that she could never quite shake. "I don't want to impede on your rights as a parent at all," she tried to explain. The words felt hot and heavy on her tongue, as though forcing them out in direct defiance to the Mayor was somehow against the very laws of nature in this town. Emma inhaled, her nostrils flaring out slightly. "He's a good kid, Ms. Mills, I just want to know him. To know that he's okay."

The Mayor's jaw opened and shut a few times before she set the basket of apples down on the bed next to Emma and shoved her hands into the deep pockets of her overcoat. Her heels clicked on the wooden floor of the Bed and Breakfast as she moved back towards the door. "I pay enough every year in therapy bills for Henry to know that no one – not even an _interloper_ such as yourself, dear – will be able to help Henry through this period of his life better than I can." A polite smile that seemed almost out of place on Regina Mills' face appeared then and she added, "Drive safely Ms. Swan. Enjoy Boston; I hear it's lovely in the autumn."

Emma's eyes narrowed as the Mayor turned and stalked out of the door.

It was strange, no matter how much her gut told her to run, to get the hell away from this place before it drew her in further; Emma didn't think she could leave. She had to make sure that Henry was okay – his mother was a goddamn force of nature and he was just a little boy, tossed about on the turbulent waters of such violent emotions.

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Emma had met Mary Margaret Blanchard the previous day, when Henry had disappeared for the second time. She had seemed nice. A little quiet and reserved, but the sort of person that could be talked to frankly and honestly. Emma had liked her instantly, and when she found herself knocking on a time-worn door just off the main street in Storybrooke, she hoped she was making the right call.

The building was older-looking, but not dilapidated. Emma guessed that it had once been some sort of a mill or storage facility before it had been converted into storefronts and apartments. The whitewash on the door was peeling; leaving strips of weathered wood beneath it – so old they were nearly grey. She inhaled, the scent of the ocean and of the forest to the west of the town filling her nose, making her wonder if this was what a place where she belonged was supposed smell like.

"Emma!" Mary Margaret opened the door with a surprised look on her face. She had a mug of something-or-other in one hand and a book tucked under her arm. "What can I do for you?"

Emma shifted from foot to foot, feeling incredibly awkward for even asking this question. "I wanted to talk to you about Henry—"

The dark haired woman's eyes narrowed and a concerned expression flickered across her features. Emma blinked, the downwards turn on Mary Margaret's eyes and lips were not unfamiliar. She'd seen the same expression cross her own face - cross Henry's. She shook her head slightly, pushing the thought and Henry's childish theories out of her head as Mary Margaret asked, "He hasn't run away again has he?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Emma shoved her hands in her pockets, feeling suddenly foolish. She had no idea what she was doing here, early on a Saturday morning. The Mayor had made sure that she was awake, the dreams feeding into her own paranoia about staying in this strange little town. "I just-"

She didn't know what she wanted to ask Mary Margaret. She had come here full of intent and it had all vanished at the kind eyes of the school teacher. She reached a hand up to scratch at the back of her neck as Mary Margaret stepped away from the door, holding it open. "Why don't you come in," she asked.

Emma took two steps into the apartment and smiled. It was the sort of style of shabby chic that she had come to recognize as a common aesthetic in Storybrooke. "Shoes?" she asked, bending to unlace her boots.

"Only in the winter," Mary Margaret replied and Emma let out a grateful hum of agreement. "Too much work otherwise."

Mary Margaret moved into the apartment's kitchen, refilling the tea kettle and setting it on the stove. Emma listened to the gas pop three times before Mary Margaret made a disappointed noise and reached for the box of matches that perched on the back of the stove. She struck a match and lit the stove with the practiced precision on one long-accustomed to the burners not lighting.

"You want to talk about Henry," Mary Margaret said, blowing out the match and tossing it into the sink.

Emma wrapped her arms around herself. "Am I that obvious?"

The other woman gave a little shrug, her eyes twinkling and a small, private sort of smile dancing across of her lips. Emma grinned back at her and slid onto a stool at the kitchen island.

There was a moment of silence before Mary Margaret caved under Emma's intense stare and laughed, "Okay, maybe a little."

"I just -" Emma sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I just want to know him, you know? I can see that superficially, at least, he's okay. His mom is-" she trailed off, finger at her lips, searching for the appropriate word to describe Regina Mills.

"Intense?" Mary Margaret supplied, picking up a container of cocoa mix and spooning it into her own mug and a second mug that she'd pulled off of the dish drain by the sink. "The Mayor expects a lot from Henry, but he is loved."

"Is he?" Emma did not want to mention the conversation she'd had with the Mayor on her front stoop the previous evening. The conversation that had been the impetus for Emma to stay, for when she'd looked into the dark eyes of the Mayor she had seen deceit at the Mayor's response to her simple question. "Why does he keep running away?"

The kettle began to whistle and Mary Margaret puttered around with the instant cocoa mix for a few minutes. Emma found watching her go through the process of preparing something to be oddly soothing. "Kids are kids," Mary Margaret shrugged. She poured the steaming water from the kettle into the two mugs and stirred them pensively before absently reaching for a container labeled cinnamon. "It's probably my fault, though."

Emma tilted her head, "Oh?"

"That book," Mary Margaret explained, handing Emma the mug of cocoa she'd just prepared. "I gave it to him."

"Yeah," Emma intoned, "You mentioned it yesterday."

"I gave it to him because his mother had just told him that he was adopted and he was acting like his entire world was crumbling around him," Mary Margaret sighed and sipped her cocoa. "His mother thought that he and Doctor Hopper were finally getting to the point where she could tell him."

"_She_ told you this?" Emma raised an incredulous eyebrow. Regina Mills did not seem the type to be particularly open about her parenting style, and Emma wasn't fool enough to miss the blatant hostility between the two of them. It was probably somewhat founded, on Regina's part, as Mary Margaret had given her son the book that had him somehow convinced that his mother was some evil fairytale queen.

"Doctor Hopper did, actually," Mary Margaret sniffed and Emma rolled her eyes. "I did corroborate it with the Mayor - just not in so many words."

They fell into silence then, Emma lost in her own thoughts as Mary Margaret sipped her cocoa. If all this was brought upon by Henry finding out that he was adopted, maybe she could make him see that the fairy tales were just his way of trying to cope with the fact that he had been given a better chance than she could have ever possibly offered him.

"If I wanted to talk to Doctor Hopper, where would I find him?"

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He hadn't wanted to, but Dr. Hopper had given Emma Henry's file. Emma had read through the first few pages before she'd realized that somehow she had played right into Mayor Mill's hands. The sheriff, Graham of the odd accent, was knocking on her door and demanding to know if she'd broken into Doctor Hopper's office to take the files.

"The doc'll swear you did it," Graham said helpfully as Emma gathered the papers she'd spread across the bed at the B&B. She shoved them moodily back into the folder that they'd come in, not caring how haphazardly they were put back. This was her game, she realized, it had to be her game.

Emma handed Graham the file and folded her arms across her chest. She didn't want to appear cocky, but there was an element of that in her very stance. She didn't think that the sheriff would arrest her. He had the somewhat wounded appearance of a total pushover, and while Emma was not beyond using that aspect of the sheriff's personality, she did not want to play that card too early.

He was, after all, just a pawn.

Emma raised an eyebrow at the sheriff and asked, "Will he now?"

Graham gave a little shrug and tucked the folder under his arm. "Sorry to say," he said, reaching into his vest pocket and pulling out a pair of handcuffs.

"Nuh uhhhhh," Emma raised a hand and ran it shakily through her hair. She didn't want to do the perp-walk out of this bed and breakfast. The woman who owned the place would probably have a coronary seeing that happen. She'd take away Emma's renter's rights in a heartbeat, even faster if there was some law about 'criminals' and private-enterprise housing on the books. Emma was sure that there was, she'd seen the way the Mayor had sneered at her earlier.

"'Fraid so," the sheriff took one of her wrists and the then the other, locking them into the handcuffs. The iron in them made Emma's skin itch and she twisted them this way and that before the Sheriff threw her jacket over her hands and steered her towards the doorway. "Just come down and answer some questions and this will all blow over."

"I'm sure it will," Emma muttered sarcastically, grabbing her keys awkwardly as she passed by them on the shelf by the door.

It turned out that Emma's initial thought about Sheriff Graham was correct. He was a pushover, the worst sort of one, honestly. She could see the Mayor's fingerprints all over this a mile away and it upset her. She didn't have to be a genius to understand that the woman wanted her gone from this down.

Emma worried at her fingernail as she sat, still handcuffed, next to Graham's desk. What little she had been able to read of Doctor Hopper's file on Henry spoke at length of how the good doctor thought that the root of the fairy-tale obsession was Henry's being unable to mentally handle the fact that he was adopted. Clearly he'd been told too soon, but Emma had not had enough time to read back far enough in the file to determine if Henry had appeared to be read, before it had happened.

Graham was filling out her paperwork, processing her for yet another arrest for her jacket and Emma was fuming. She had to talk to Henry's mother – the Mayor clearly had the full story. She had to know why they'd told him if he wasn't ready, or why they'd thought that he was. The news had obviously damaged him, aided by Mary Margaret's book.

"Place of birth?" Graham asked with a cocked eyebrow, his pen hovering over the line on the form.

She gave a long-suffering sigh. "Depends who you ask," she explained, tapping her fingers on the desk. "Henry seems to think I wasn't born on Earth at all." Graham lowered the pen to the page and Emma smirked. Trust him to be gullible to boot. "My birth certificate says Elmwood, Rhode Island, though."

"Emma!" Henry's youthful voice cut through the chuckle that rose out of Graham's throat and he dashed past the normal visitor's area of the station and flung himself at her. "Doctor Hopper told me everything! You don't need to worry! I brought help."

Behind him, waiting politely in the visitor's area, was Mary Margaret Blanchard. She shifted awkwardly from foot to foot and adjusted her purse on her shoulder. Upon noticing that Henry was mentioning her, she smiled weakly at Emma and gave a little wave.

Emma raised her handcuffed hands and waved back.

"Emma, she's gonna bail you out," Henry explained, climbing down from where he'd clambered into Emma's lap. He stood awkwardly in his school uniform, looking for all the world like she had to again take him home to his mother.

She wasn't cut out to be a parent. Her complete and utter aversion to all the affection that Henry was giving to her so freely made that point strikingly clear.

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Henry took her back to his castle. The old jungle gym by the rocky outcropping that the locals apparently called look-out point had seen better days, but Emma could tell by the way that Henry climbed easily onto the platforms that it was a favorite of his. She climbed up next to him, shivering as the wind cut through her light jacket and sweater. Maine was colder than she remembered from the few times she'd ventured this far north. The sea spray as the waves crashed against the rocks just beyond Henry's secret place didn't help to stave off the deep and chilling feeling of damp that had crept under Emma's skin and wouldn't go away no matter how much she tried to warm up.

"Henry," she was afraid to reach out and touch him, to touch him would be to know him and Emma did not want that. She wanted to leave, and yet she had to stay. She had to make sure that the child that had been such a burden and such a mistake in her youth would be safe. It was a foolish wish. One that she didn't deserve to be making, for she'd given up on Henry ten years ago when she'd first signed those adoption papers.

His eyes were shining as he looked back up at her. "You were doing recon on the curse, weren't you?"

She wanted to shake her head no, but something stopped her. It was like the pull of the surf to the shore, keeping her steady and grounded. Emma bit her lip and stared off at the ocean. It stretched on forever before them, slate gray fading to blue and then finally blending in with the sky at the horizon. "I was doing recon on_ you_," she settled on.

It didn't seem fair to destroy the kid's imagination.

Henry frowned at this, his lip outing outwards in an expression that she had never seen on her own face. He looked far more like the Mayor then, put out that he wasn't getting his way. Emma could tell that he wanted her to believe in him and his crazy theory about the town so badly that her realism and healthy skepticism were annoying him.

She reached out, fingers hovering over the collar of his jacket. She didn't want to touch him. To touch him would make him real, and would play into his mother's game. She couldn't risk anyone seeing her being friendly with the kid - she knew it would be twisted into some form of child endangerment. Emma settled on letting her fingers adjust the hand-knit scarf around Henry's neck, smoothing it under his collar as she watched his face.

"Henry, did your mom telling you that you were adopted make the whole curse thing click in your brain?" It was a long-shot, but she figured that maybe if she kept him talking about the curse that she'd be able to find an in. She had to stress to the kid that he couldn't keep treating his mother like crap. She very obviously loved hi-

Emma's train of thoughts suddenly thought and her eyes narrowed. She wasn't supposed to be supporting Regina Mills. She was actually supposed to be really fucking pissed at her right now. The woman was a menace that had gotten Emma arrested just to prove a point. Emma frowned, wondering where the sudden surge of benevolence within her had come from.

She was going to have _words_ with Mayor Mills after she talked to Henry. She did not need to feel compelled to back down now; the woman was scary enough without cold feet.

Henry seemed thoughtful, fiddling with the end of his scarf. "No," he seemed to conclude. "Before, I just noticed weird stuff happening, but Ms. Blanchard gave me the book and my mom told me about how you were my real mom."

"I doubt she sat you down and said that I was your real mother. You stole Mary Margaret's credit card to prove that, didn't you?" Emma leaned back, the palms of her hands resting against the cool, sun-bleached wood of Henry's Castle.

He folded his arms across his chest and scowled. Emma felt a weak smile flit across her face. "I said I was sorry," he muttered. "Mom paid her back."

Emma shook her head, sighing exasperatedly. "Kid, you can't just go doing things just to prove something is real. You might believe it, but that doesn't mean that it is." She sat up, forearms resting on her knees as she turned to look him in the eye. "You're hurting more people than just yourself."

Henry blinked at her, eyes wide and confused. "What do you mean?"

She sighed and tucked some of her hair behind her ear. "Well, think about it. Your mom loves you, and you ran away from her to find me. I'm a total stranger who gave you up because I was seventeen and too young to be a mother." Henry drew in a deep breath and Emma could see his chin start to wobble. She exhaled and added, "I grew up without parents, Henry. I grew up in the foster system and I hated it. I didn't want the child I'd had to have the same life I did."

"Why?" Henry asked.

She shrugged. "Because I wanted you to have a loving family."

"My mom doesn't love me," Henry retorted. "She just pretends, she pretends and lies and fake smiles and I hate her." His hands were balled into fists on top of his book, and Emma finally realized that she had to touch him. She reached over and grasped his hands, pulling them into her own.

"You're wrong," she said fiercely. "She does love you."

She wasn't exactly telling him the truth, but it was close enough that she thought that Henry can handle it. She had a feeling in her gut that Regina Mills was a very complicated and layered woman. Whatever Emma's power to discern when people are lying seemed to fall short with the Mayor. She'd seen the lie when she'd asked if the Mayor cared about her son, but maybe care was too weak a word for the emotion that was felt when it came to Henry. He was a lovable kid, after all.

"How do you know?" Henry asked.

Emma took a leap of faith and tapped her nose knowingly, "Magic."

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The Mayor had been less-than-thrilled to find Emma standing on the other side of her doorway with a rather guilty looking Henry beside her. They cut a comical picture, standing before the put-together Mayor looking bedraggled and just a little bit lost. Emma had pushed Henry forward and he'd winced as his mother made a show of checking her watch.

"What do you have to say for yourself, young man?" She asked then, eyebrows dangerously high.

Henry had the good sense to at least look a little bit ashamed. "I'm sorry," he explained. "I just..."

Emma watched as the woman that Henry was so convinced was the Evil Queen from the old stories knelt down and touched her son's cheeks. "You need to be more careful, okay?"

"I promise," he said, before pulling away from his mother's fingers and making a mad dash up the stairs towards where Emma assumed his bedroom was.

Emma watched as Regina Mills seemed to count to ten after the sharp snap of Henry's bedroom door closing drifted down the stairs. "I thought you were leaving Storybrooke, Ms. Swan," her tone had turned low and angry, barely a hiss as she raised her narrowed and dark eyes to Emma.

"I was waylaid," Emma replied with a raised eyebrow. She folded her arms across her chest and dared the Mayor to deny the fact that her fingerprints were all over the completely bullshit charges brought against her.

The Mayor stepped aside and allowed Emma into the house, a single eyebrow rising in response to Emma's. "Is that so?" The Mayor's tone was light, almost mocking.

She waited until Emma grudgingly stepped forward and inside the house before closing the door with a snap and turning without a word and heading towards what Emma had assumed was her study the first time she'd been in there the night she'd brought Henry back from Boston.

Grudgingly, Emma wiped her feet on the mat by the door and headed after Regina.

The door had barely closed behind her before Emma felt the tenuous hold she had on her temper finally let go. She exhaled slowly, watching the tight line of the Mayor's shoulders as she stood with her back to Emma, hands resting on her desk and her feet crossed at the ankle.

Emma wanted to yell. She wanted to yell and kick up an all-mighty fuss. Henry wouldn't be able to hear her give the Mayor a piece of her mind, not behind that thick oak door. She swallowed, feeling the words die in her throat again and again as she tried to fight.

"Get on with it," the Mayor's voice was quiet. The anger seemed to be gone, replaced with a resigned tone that seemed almost out of character.

Her hand clenched into a fist and Emma shook her head no. She didn't really want to fight, no matter how pissed off she was. It would just make her look bad, and it would deny her any future opportunity to know Henry when Regina inevitably ran her out of town. "I won't sink to that - to _your_ - level."

There was an almost catlike grace about the Mayor as she turned and faced Emma, her eyes flashing dangerously. She strode towards Emma and jabbed her finger into Emma's jacket. Emma wanted to back up, but she'd already scooted herself so that her back was pressed against the door. "You will do what I tell you when I tell you to get _the hell_ out of my town."

"You haven't given me one good reason to get outta here," Emma retorted. She pushed forward, eyes narrowed in response. "All I want to know is if Henry's okay and you're acting like a damn loose cannon! You had me _arrested_." She shook her head; the whole thing was fucking ridiculous anyway. "You've got Henry convinced you're an _Evil Fairytale Queen_ and you want me out of here?"

The look on Regina's face was alarming, contorting into a look of unmitigated hatred. Emma flinched as she found herself gazing directly into the Mayor's black eyes. There was no light there, no warmth, nothing to indicate an iota of humanity. "You'd best tread carefully, Ms. Swan," she hissed. "You have no idea what I'm capable of."

"Don't push me, Madame Mayor," Emma replied, side stepping, her fingers scrambling against the solid wood of the door. Upon finally hitting the handle, she pulled herself even further from the Mayor, her jaw set into a hard line. "You'll find I'm exactly the same. You _don't_ want to be on my bad side."

Regina's pulled upwards into a near-perfect sneer and she demanded, "Am I not already?"

There wasn't an answer for that, or at least not one that Emma would allow to be uttered out loud. She stuck her chin up in the air defiantly and slipped out of Regina's study before she found herself saying things she would later regret. Slamming the front door to the Mayor's house, Emma zipped up her jacket and jammed her hands into her pockets. It was too goddamn cold in Maine.

She kicked moodily at the gathering leaves on the sidewalk outside of the Mayor's house. Her hand clenched angrily around the compass that she always kept in her jacket pocket, the sharp metal edge digging into her skin. The pain was good, it kept her grounded and avoiding the childish temper tantrum that was sure to get her arrested for public menace or something equally bullshit and trumped up.

It was easy to wander in Storybrooke, lost in her thoughts though Emma was. She cut across the main drag and headed towards the Bed and Breakfast, still silently fuming. She brushed past the man that she'd been introduced to as Mr. Gold as she cut across the lawn. He was making his way down the path from the steps, his cane swinging.

"Hello, Ms. Swan," he said with a tip of his (very dated) hat.

Emma distractedly waved, paying more attention to putting one foot in front of the other. She wanted to get inside and find a pillow to scream into.

She climbed the porch steps two at a time and pulled the bed and breakfast door open with more force than was entirely necessary. Her room key in hand, Emma headed towards the stairs when Mrs. Lucas appeared from around the corner. "Oh! Ms. Swan!"

Emma turned to face the older woman, trying to school her features into a less stormy mass of pissed-off. "Yes?" she asked.

The older woman adjusted her glasses and fidgeted uncomfortably for a moment. Emma was tempted to tell her to just spit it out. She had a feeling that she knew what was about to be said, anyway.

"This is just so terribly awkward," Mrs. Lucas muttered. She looked up and met Emma's eyes steadily. "It's just that the inn - well, the whole town really - has a law about renting rooms to criminals."

Figured.

Nodding, Emma let the angry breath she was holding out slowly through her mouth. "And, let me guess, the Mayor's office just called to remind you of that fact?"

Mrs. Lucas at least had the good sense to look guilty about it.

_You_ _win_. Emma thought darkly, holding up her room key. "I gotta get my stuff out of the room, and then I'll be out of your hair."

"I'm really sorry about this," Mrs. Lucas began. "I know that you're just here because of Henry."

Emma bit her lip and headed up the stairs. She wanted to say yes, that she was there just for Henry. It would be so easy to say her dreams and the feeling of peace that she got from this place were just illusions. She was a fool to think that she could stay here without help. The Mayor wanted her gone and it seemed like she'd stop at nothing to get rid of Emma.

They were both stubborn, it seemed. Throwing the few articles of clothing that she'd brought with her (and sorely wishing she'd brought another sweater) into her bag, Emma tried to push the odd push and pull of her conversations with Regina Mills from her mind. Emma Swan _never_ backed down from a fight, and she'd ran away like the Mayor had gotten the best of her.

"The fuck's wrong with me?" Emma muttered, contemplating the bedspread for a moment before pulling the blanket that was folded at the end of the bed. She'd ask Mrs. Lucas if she could borrow it for the evening and then be on her way.

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_Ta-ta-ta-daaaaa! A great announcement for all the kingdom to hear!_

When Rumplestiltskin asked Snow White and Prince Charming for their daughter's name, his deal was merely for his own edification once the curse was fully enacted. He had a theory that even the Queen's promise of power would still leave him neutered, and he could not have that. He had to know, had to make sure that he would know who the promised child was long before the Queen deduced her identity.

He sat in his cell and contemplated the endgame that grew every minute within Snow White's belly. The girlchild would be the end – maybe even the death – of them all. The imp knew even then that the power she possessed would be amplified by something that could not be quantified by the traditional scales of magic. He had not planned for this, and he ran every conversation back through his mind, searching for his folly. A slip of tongue, he wondered if that could have been the cause of his folly.

The deal had been simple, he'd asked for little with the guarantee of little in return. He would protect the child because the child was to be the savior. The girlchild could break even the Queen's curse. A name held power to Rumplestiltskin, more so than many of this realm. He chewed on a fingernail and thought of the savior's name.

Emma.

Imprisoned though he was, the imp knew that something was amiss as the black miss of the queen's curse began to swirl around him some weeks later. The power was black, but the underlying hues were of purple and of gold – noble colors unbecoming of a witch of common birth. This was not his magic, nor was it the Queen's; no, this was something else entirely.

"What did she do?" he wondered out loud, brow furrowed as he concentrated on his destination, rather than the journey. He would not allow the Queen to fool him this time, not again.

_You can't just play a trumpet! No, you must feel the freedom of the music._

_But this prisoner isn't free. No one is._

_Oh. Have you heard? _

* * *

Okay, if any of you guys are familiar with my other vaguely-au-mostly-canon stories, you'll know that I tend to play fast and really loose with canon. Some of the events in this story are in chronological order according to how they happened in the show, others are a little bit out of order, some are ignored in their entirely.

I chose to keep Granny's last name as Lucas as it was in Fairy Tale Land, just because it's a perfectly reasonable surname. I checked a couple wikis to make sure that she was never actually given a last name in Storybrooke.

I'm in the market for a beta who'd be willing to check stuff, I can't keep begging my tumblr friends who don't know anything about the show. Anyone who'd be willing to put up with my bs'd be awesome, shoot me a PM. :) Or if you want to email me, my email is listed in my profile.

Next: The Town and The Mine


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three – The Town and The Mine**

A child's laugh echoed through the clearing and the traveler's gaze dropped from the shimmering quality of the air to the forest floor. A little boy - he couldn't have been much older than five summers - danced across the mud and muck that covered the base of the clearing. Stockings fell loose around his boots, revealing dirty knees and grass stains at the base of his britches. His hair was hidden under a pointed red felt cap, but the traveler could see bits of close-cropped brown hair sticking out from it at odd angles.

"Who are you?" he demanded, his boots skidding to a halt just at the edge of the fairy ring, as though he did not dare step past the barrier they formed. His basket dangled limply from one chubby hand, grimy from the forest and his journey to the clearing. "Why are you standing on my rock?"

The traveler looked down at her boots, and at the large flat rock beneath her feet. She had not noticed them before, but the rock was littered with child-like scratching on the rock. There were pictures of birds and trees and a house in the woods. A woman asleep in a glass coffin – the traveler knew _that_ story well, at least. She stepped carefully backwards, hand not relaxing the grip on the sword still clenched tightly in her fist.

The problem with a clearing so rife with magic is that they tended to attract the denizens of the forest who are inclined in the ancient arts. They were dangerous, interaction with them begged caution. Their moods could turn on a moment's notice. It was not wise to even go so far as to borrow the trouble of even interacting with such creatures. The traveler knew this, and her body remained on high alert, mindful of how the little boy-creature seemed to avoid the stepping past the circle of the mushrooms.

The traveler's eyes narrowed. She gingerly stepped down off of the rock, staying within the apparently safe circle of the fairy ring. "Why are you all alone in the woods, little man?" she countered.

The little boy bit his lip and held out his basket. "Mushrooms," he explained, pointing to the fairy ring. "They always grow around my rock."

Inclining her head, the traveler nodded her agreement. "Is it wise to destroy a ring such as this?" she asked. Her hand swept outwards, gesturing to the whole of the fairy ring. Such things were blessed; they held power that could not be quantified by the normal scales of such things?

The boy nodded slowly, his eyes wide and trusting. He knelt on the ground, his bare knee sinking into the dead leaves on the clearing's floor as he carefully pulled the dirt away from the mushroom closest to him. She could see his breath in the sparkling sunlight, misting as the morning's cool air still clung to the clearing.

The traveler took a half a step back, eyes wary. She watched as the boy whispered something so quietly that she could not discern it, pulling gently on the mushroom cap. Her expression twisted from concern into amazement as the boy charmed the mushroom, root and all, out of the ground and set it in his basket.

"My mother is a witch," the boy explained, looking up at her with a cheerful smile. The corners of his eyes crinkled and his cheeks formed perfect dimples as he moved on to the next mushroom. "She uses these in spells. They always grow back because I ask them to."

The traveler bit her tongue and raised her sword, sliding it home into the scabbard on her back. This child was no threat to her, simply a little boy doing his chores. "Can I help?" she asked, pushing up her shirtsleeves.

The boy nodded, leaning forward. The magic words to charm the mushrooms out of the ground were on his lips. The traveler grinned at him and listened. She had no skill with magic, but she was willing to try.

Rain began to fall around them.

Emma Swan jerked awake, cramped and uncomfortable in the back seat of her car. The blanket that she'd pulled over herself had twisted around her, leaving her immobile and uncomfortable.

Rain was pounding down, filling her tiny Volkswagen with the canned noise of rain against metal, echoing in the small space. Emma shivered, pulling at the blanket. Maine was far, far too cold in October.

This was now officially her fourth day in her car. She'd tried to stay away from Henry during that time, but he'd sucked her into a misadventure with Mary Margaret and the man he was convinced was Prince Charming. The man who'd been in a coma for as long as anyone could remember.

Still, Emma liked to think that she was actually doing fairly well for herself, the man in the coma was now awake and happily reunited with his wife. The Mayor seemed actually pleased with the help that she'd been able to provide for that case, even if Henry was convinced that Kathryn Nolan was not actually coma guy's wife.

It had been convenient, but hey, Emma was far too much of a skeptic to write Regina Mills off as an evil queen just because of series of anecdotal stories coming from a ten year old. The kid had issues, but those were the issues that made her want to know him. She wanted to know what went on inside the head of the child she'd birthed ten years ago, because he obviously was onto _something_, considering how coma guy - David Nolan's - amnesia was really too convenient and he seemed far more drawn to Mary Margaret than to his wife.

Emma grunted, sleep was eluding her at this point anyway, she might as well wake up and find something to do in this Podunk town for an hour or two. Maybe Ruby or someone could tell her where there was a bar. A drink after that dream and the memory of the child who looked too much like Henry sounded really good right about now.

Emma pushed herself into a sitting position, angling her legs straight up and pressing them against the Beetle's tiny back window. God above, they ached. Emma groaned and uncurled her body, thinking of the bed at Mrs. Lucas' bed and breakfast. She missed small comforts like that, but this was hardly the worst position she'd found herself in.

She sighed - at least Graham, the sheriff, had been willing to let her use the showers at the police station after she'd helped them find David Nolan. She was still a day ripe after that and the newspaper classified ads had revealed absolutely zero vacancies in town for rent. Emma did not know if that was the mayor's doing or the lack of anything other than residential old colonials in town. Emma was used to Boston and to the suburbs. She wasn't accustomed to the idea that there simply may not be an apartment building that had a vacancy for her.

There was a sharp rap on the window of the driver's side of the car, opposite to where Emma was sitting. She squinted through the rain battering her window and saw a familiar face. Emma kicked the blanket off of her legs and pushed herself through the impossibly small space between the driver and passenger seats of the car. She winced as she heard something plastic crack under her weight and prayed that it was not her _Rebel Yell _cassette that had just bit the dust. She'd had that damn thing most of her life and she refused to part with it, even if her musical tastes had evolved since her love of Billy Idol had set in at age eleven.

Emma half-crouched in the driver's seat and rolled down the window gingerly, not wanting to get the already ratty interior of the car wet. She squinted in the half-light up at the intruder into her peaceful cocoon of half-freezing her ass off, cramped and uncomfortable.

"Mary Margaret, hi!" she said, blinking up at the school teacher who was thoughtfully holding her wide umbrella over the roof of the car to prevent Emma from getting wet in the downpour. Emma ran a hand through her hair and tilted her head to one side, "Can I… help you with something?"

The dark haired woman's face was very resolved when she asked, "Are you sleeping in your car?"

"Uh… yeah," Emma glanced at the back seat, her jacket rolled up as a makeshift pillow at one end and the blanket at the other. It somehow didn't seem smart to lie; Henry had wanted to know why she hadn't been at the bed and breakfast a few days ago when he'd gone looking for her there. The little traitor had probably told his teacher all about Emma's personal problems. Jerk. "I guess I am."

"Unlock the passenger door, it's getting too cold at night and I have a spare room," Her voice was firm and when Emma opened her mouth to argue, Mary Margaret gave Emma a look that almost dared her to try. Emma snapped her mouth shut and moved to roll up her window. "You should have said something," the teacher added, moving away from the window.

Emma said nothing, just leaned over and pulled up the door lock on the passenger side and fumbled for her keys in her jacket pocket. "You don't have to do this," she said as Mary Margaret shook out her umbrella and climbed into the passenger seat.

"Of course I do," Mary Margaret said. Her hands were gripping her umbrella handle so tightly her knuckles were white, and she was resolutely looking down at the way the rain water was splattered up and down her pant legs. Emma wondered what she was so afraid of, but she knew the answer almost instantly.

The Mayor would not take kindly to such an act of kindness.

Shifting the car into first, Emma pulled out onto the rainy street. Her headlights cut a stark line out and into the pouring rain. Emma bit her lip, scowling at the road before turning and heading towards Mary Margaret's apartment.

The ride was silent, Emma listening to the rain and Mary Margaret's breathing, her mind drifting back to the dream. Again, the same dream, they plagued her these days. Coming to Storybrooke had increased them from mere occasional happenings to an almost nightly occurrence. The forest, the clearing and Emma's half-awake mind pushed details together that maybe were not entirely true. Was the little boy in her dream supposed to represent Henry?

Her eyes narrowed and she adjusted herself in the seat slightly. The light before them clicked from red to yellow and Emma proceeded slowly across the intersection, fingers gripping the thin metal and plastic that was the bug's steering wheel. "Did you come out just to find me?"

Mary Margaret shook her head, her cheeks coloring under the light of a street lamp as Emma pulled into the small lot behind the building that housed Mary Margaret's apartment. "No," she admitted. She didn't look at Emma when she added, "I had a date with someone."

She wasn't judging, but Emma's mind drifted; thinking about how Kathryn Nolan had looked upon seeing David Nolan back and happily awakened from his coma. She knew what Henry thought about David, and about how it fit into his general theory about Mary Margaret as well. "Oh," she tried, killing the engine and flicking her lights off. She leaned into the back of the car and gathered Mrs. Lucas' blanket and her jacket. Her bag was bunched at Mary Margaret's feet, she'd get it later.

"Doctor Whale," Mary Margaret said with a closed-off smile that Emma found very telling. Her cheeks were pink when she added, "He paid, this time."

Well, that was something.

They clambered out of the car, Emma grateful for the awning she'd been able to find to park under, her car was protected against the elements and it meant that she would be able to avoid getting drenched in this rain getting into the apartment. "That's good," she said, gathering up her bag and the bundle of the blanket and her jacket. She followed Mary Margaret through the semi-darkness, picking their way along under the awning.

The door to the apartment building had no lock, and Mary Margaret pushed it open gratefully. Emma stamped her feet on the threadbare rug at the base of the stairs and Mary Margaret tapped out her umbrella before climbing them resolutely. It wasn't until they were safely at the top of the stairs and Mary Margaret had opened the door that Emma finally found the words to say what she'd wanted to say since she'd first found herself confronted with such a kind offer from a woman she barely even knew.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Borrowing the Mayor's wrath can't be easy."

Mary Margaret shrugged, "Regina is a hard woman, but she's not inhuman. She'll see eventually that this-" she gestured between the two of them, "-is an okay and totally reasonable thing." Pushing open the door, she added with a smile, "Welcome home, Emma."

db

Living with Mary Margaret soon fell into a pattern that was almost comforting to Emma. She was so accustomed to having chaos rule her life that to have an easy routine made her feel more grounded than she'd felt in years. Henry became like a third resident of the small apartment, coming and going as though it was a second nature to him. Emma found herself growing comfortable in the town, and it scared her how easily she'd found herself integrating with the community.

It wasn't until she'd spent two days helping out the town's pawnbroker on what had turned out to be a less-than-savory endeavor involving a baby that Emma finally found herself taking a moment to stare at her hands and wonder what the fuck she was even doing in Storybrooke. Henry was not an acceptable answer, he couldn't be. She'd made her decision regarding him ten years ago when she'd signed the adoption papers. Emma did not want to think of herself in a motherly sense, and Henry was bringing out all of those instincts in her.

She pushed the stool that she was sitting on back, leaning onto only two of its legs. Her hand rested on Mary Margaret's countertop, just enough to keep her steady. She lingered there, balanced, her eyes closed and her mind racing. She owed Gold a favor now, and Emma hated the feeling of dread that settled deep in the pit of her stomach just thinking about it. Henry told her not to make a deal with him, and everything seemed to indicate that owing him anything came at a higher price than she was probably going to be willing to play.

She wasn't an idiot. Emma had put together two and two and realized that it had been Gold who had helped the Mayor to adopt Henry. His fingers were all over the adoption papers, the contract damn near perfect. Emma winced, thinking about what the Mayor must have had to do for the creepy old man to get him to bring her Henry. The man drove a bargain unlike many Emma had seen in her life.

Her mind drifted again, thinking of another man who drove bargains in a similar way. She'd traded a few kind words and a place to sleep for the night for sex then, thinking it would be the solution to her problems.

Emma pushed the thoughts violently out of her mind she couldn't go back to that time, when she'd been so young and so damn stupid. She couldn't dwell on that in a place like this, where such memories had no place. Henry could never know just how foolishly he'd come into existence, it would hurt him far more than anything that his mother could say to him about Emma.

Her jaw hardened.

She was filled, quite suddenly, with an impulse to go and see Henry. It was a Thursday afternoon, and Henry was at home with his mother. Mary Margaret was stuck at teacher in-service for the next two days, prepping for parent teacher conferences. Emma had been left to her own devices, and she'd het to decide what to do with the afternoon.

Grabbing her keys, Emma headed towards the door. Mary Margaret had left her a key with little ceremony on her second day staying at the apartment without ceremony. Setting it out with a bowl of oatmeal and directions on how to heat it up in the microwave like it was no big deal. Emma had frowned, thinking of just how big a deal it was.

It was easy enough to steal over to the Mayor's house and watch Henry as he helped his mother in the garden. Regina was wearing jeans and an old shirt with the town's seal emblazoned across the back. She was directing Henry with a wheelbarrow full of bulbs as she moved around the garden, watching as his little hands worked the trowel in and out of the earth to form perfect little holes.

She hadn't known he was a gardener – or that Regina was one for that matter. Emma supposed that the apple tree should have given it away, but there was a practiced ease to which the Mayor moved about the garden that was far more relaxed than Emma had ever seen her. This was the sort of mother that Emma had wanted for Henry. The parent who would take their craft and impart it onto her child without thought, the way that it was done in the stories that Henry loved so much.

She was unwelcome here, she knew that. This idyllic moment proved that no matter how much she might want to be a part of Henry's life, she couldn't truly linger here. Emma clenched her jaw, her hands pulling tight into fists as she watched Henry pull a packet of bulbs out of the wheelbarrow and hand them to Regina, gesturing to them and presumably asking where to put them.

It was all too… perfect.

"They look happy," came a voice to Emma's left. Emma jumped, shocked out of her thoughts as she turned to find Doctor Hopper and Pongo (okay that was just straight up Disney, not fairy tales) drawing up next to her. He pushed his glasses up his nose and gave Emma a wry smile. "It's nice to see them that way."

He looked sad, and Emma wondered if there was something up with him. She knelt to pat Pongo on the head, fingers smoothing over the short fur at the top of his head. "Is something up with Henry, Doctor Hopper?" she asked.

She had to know, Henry was the only thing keeping her here. Henry and Graham's business card that was currently burning a hole in her pocket; he'd offered her a job. Emma wasn't sure she should take it. Sheriff was an appointed position in Maine, unless there were two vying for the spot and then it would become an election. Emma did not want to borrow trouble and get Graham ousted from his seat just because he'd shown her unnecessary kindness.

The doctor sighed and looked again towards Henry. Emma followed his gaze and they stood silently for a few minutes before the doctor shook his head. "It's nothing," he explained, and turned to go. Emma could sense the lie almost instantly, the way his pupils grew large and he swallowed uncomfortably. "You have a good day, Ms. Swan."

She gave a small wave and watched as Archie turned and made his way slowly down the road, away from them. He was twirling his umbrella and looking for all the world like the cartoon Henry suspected that he was. Emma's face pulled downwards into a frown and she jammed her hands into her pockets.

Her fingers touched worn cardstock and Emma pulled out the business card that Graham had shoved into her hands a few days prior, when they'd found David Nolan. She had wanted to laugh in his face at that moment. No one wanted her around; it wasn't how things worked with her. She'd been through enough homes to know that she was never quite good enough to keep.

Emma turned and walked away from Henry and his mother, her fingers moving over the keypad on her phone.

Graham picked up on the second ring. "It's Emma Swan," she said after his greeting. "I was thinking…"

He chuckled, "That maybe you'd like to put down some roots?"

"Yeah," Emma agreed. "Roots wouldn't be so bad."

"I'll see you eight o'clock on Monday then."

db

Emma brought coffee to the sheriff's station and a box of doughnuts on her first morning because it felt like the right thing to do. Graham took his with a smile and tossed her a deputy's badge. "Welcome aboard," he said with a smile, tipping his coffee too her. Emma felt herself grinning back at him. He was the sort of guy that should see herself inadvertently falling for – pulled in by charm and driven to stay because he was genuinely a good guy.

Emma didn't _do_ good guys. No, she was attracted to broken people who cannot love. She didn't know if it's because she's never actually had a family of her own to know what love is, but Henry was quickly growing on her and Mary Margaret could be pretty damn motherly when she put her mind to it. She shook her head, thinking of Henry's crazy theory that Mary Margaret was somehow her mother. It was preposterous, right?

"Well," Graham said, grinning. He gestured to the badge in Emma's hand. "Put it on!"

As she slid the badge home over her belt, Emma felt the ground shake and she pitched forward into the desk in front of her. "What the hell was that?" she asked, pushing herself upright as Graham sprinted towards the window. Emma hurried across the room to join him, eyes narrowing in the weak autumn sunshine.

A large plume of smoke and dust rose up over an area down the main street towards the west of town. Emma felt her breath catch in her throat as Graham backed away hurriedly, grabbing his jacket and a duffle bag emblazoned with the large white cross that indicated that it was full of first aid equipment. The phone had started to ring, and Emma lunged forward to grab it as Graham indicated that he would pull the cruiser around.

"Sheriff's station," Emma said as quickly as she could. She was scrambling for a pen and paper, half-listening to the concerned citizen on the other line shrieked about how something was happening at the old mines. "Ma'am," she said finally after three minutes of not being able to get a word in edge-wise. "The sheriff and myself are on our away down there now. Please remain in your house unless you feel the foundation is unsafe. We're coming, ma'am."

Outside, Graham honked the car's horn and Emma grabbed her keys and locked the door behind herself as she hurried out to the cruiser. "I got as much police tape and stakes as I could find in the back," he explained, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the cord of wooden stakes and three rolls of police tape. "Trial by fire on your first day, huh?"

Emma just shrugged. She wondered if Graham had told the Mayor that she had been hired. She was going to have a _fit _if he hadn't, and judging by the way a small smile was tugging at the corners of Graham's mouth, Emma guessed that she was about to get chewed the fuck out by a rather irate Regina Mills.

The mines, Graham explained quickly as they gathered their supplies and pushed through the crowd of onlookers, had been closed along ago because they were considered unsafe. The county had shifted away from using whatever had come from them, and Storybrooke's economy had become less dependent on the constant comings and goings of trains full of coal. "Now they're just a hazard," he explained as he used a pocket knife to cut the plastic wrapping that held their cord of stakes together. He passed Emma a large mallet and positioned the first stake into the ground.

"Just three for now?" She asked, as he tied off one end of the police tape.

Graham nodded. "Just to keep people away, safer tha' way."

Emma wasn't paying attention, watching with narrowed eyes as a black Mercedes pulled up next to Graham's cruiser. The Mayor had arrived, and with her a hush fell over the gathered crowd as the woman got out of her car and paused, bending slightly to pick up something from the ground before jamming her hands into her jacket pockets and heading straight for Emma.

She gulped as the Mayor drew level with her, eyes trailing down to rest at the deputy's badge at her waist and the gun holster on her shoulder. She hadn't finished the paperwork for the firearm yet, but Graham had said that he'd take her into the woods to practice before the week was out and he could officially issue her a service piece.

"Miss Swan," the Mayor's voice was icy cold and Emma felt herself take half a step forward. She did not want this to fall onto Graham, no matter how much the upcoming shitstorm was his fault. "I see that you have found yourself a position of importance within our town."

Emma gave a small shrug and ripped a piece of police tape with a little bit more vigor than she had perhaps meant. She tied it around the stake in a tight knot and glanced up to meet the Mayor's eyes. "I was offered a job and I accepted it," she explained simply. There was no room for argument in that statement, Emma reasoned. She should be okay.

The Mayor's dark eyes seemed to glow with malevolent energy and she held Emma's gaze for a long moment before she turned and began to address the townspeople. The mines, she explained, while a long-standing testament to Storybrooke's rich history, were growing into a safety hazard. It was time, she explained in slow, carefully chosen words, to move on from that historical mindset and create something that could bring Storybrooke forward.

The woman was a damn good politician, Emma reasoned, moving on with Graham to secure some secondary stakes to hold up the police line. She was about to comment that _he_ really should communicate better with his boss about new hires when Henry's voice cut over the quiet murmurings of the crowd.

"What did you do!" he demanded, pulling away from Archie Hopper and marching up to his mother with an accusing look in his eyes.

"Kid'll be the death of us all," Graham muttered, peering across the clearing to where Regina had knelt down in front of Henry.

Emma shrugged, "He's just wrapped up in his stories."

"Exactly," Graham agreed. He stabbed a stake into the ground with relish and used the mallet that Emma passed him to hammer it home. "One of these days the lad's going to get an idea into his head and run off somewhere and we won't be able to track him down." His eyes lingered on the Mayor for a moment and he shook his head tiredly.

It was an easy assessment of the situation, straight and honest, much like Graham himself. Emma felt her stomach knot as Henry pushed away from his mother and stalked off over towards the car. He climbed in and slumped low in the back seat, his arms folded across his chest.

Emma turned her attention back to placing the tape to keep people away. The ground was still shifting, and the whole place felt like it was about to cave in around them. She felt the tension of the conversation between Doctor Hopper and the Mayor from clear across the clearing where the mine's entrance still stood ominously open. It was a gaping mouth in the ground, waiting to swallow someone unsuspecting and innocent completely whole.

She shivered despite herself and watched as Doctor Hopper stalked away from the Mayor, the line of his shoulders a tense knot. She gathered the rest of her tools and headed back towards the cruiser, hoping for a few minutes with Henry before the Mayor stole him away. She needed to tell him to chill out. His mother wasn't responsible for _every_ bad thing that happened in Storybrooke.

(She reasoned that Mr. Gold was probably responsible for about sixty percent of them.)

"Deputy," the Mayor intoned as Emma contorted herself, trying to dig the cruiser keys out of her jacket pocket with an armful of unused stakes in one hand and a mallet in the other. Emma paused, fingers half-way into her jacket as she turned to face the Mayor.

A strange sort of smile played across the Mayor's face as she stood with her hands in her pockets. "Welcome to the city government."

Emma inclined her head, forcing an almost smile onto her face. It felt more like a grimace, but then again, the Mayor's smile looked more like a sneer. She supposed that they were even, in that respect. "Thanks," she said quietly. "Graham and I are going to switch off keeping an eye out here at night; make sure no intrepid explorers venture down into the mines and get lost."

The mayor seemed to consider this before she took a step forward, eyes flashing dangerously. "No one goes into those mines, Deputy, unless it is to blast them shut forever."

Emma swallowed and stepped aside. There was something final in Regina's tone, and Emma found her assessment of the situation accurate. The mines were simply too unstable to leave standing as they were.

db

Mary Margaret, it turned out, had been to visit David Nolan in the hospital again. She had sat Emma down and was attempting to explain how she felt about the man when there was a knock on the door. A second later Henry burst into the room, his cheeks streaked with tears. Emma half-stood up and he launched himself at her, wrapping his arms around her stomach and sobbing that Doctor Hopper had been mean to him. That Doctor Hopper, who was somewhat of a believer and participant in Operation Cobra, had told him that he needed to come back to reality and that he needed to do it now.

Emma glanced at Mary Margaret, her hand awkwardly hovering above Henry's head, almost afraid to touch him as he cried. She gave half a nod and Emma let her hand fall to touch Henry's hair. It felt damp, like he'd run through the drizzle from Doctor Hopper's office without thought to the fact that he was getting wet. "Why?" Henry demanded of Emma's stomach, "Why would he say something like that?!"

Her fingers dropped down slightly to cup his cheeks, smoothing away tears into sweaty streaks of brown across his face. "I don't know kid," Emma intoned tiredly. She wasn't good with kids, crying upset kids especially. She bit her lip as Henry's eyes watered and a second wave of tears threatened to spill over.

"I know how to prove it to him," Henry said a moment later, glancing from Mary Margaret to Emma. He backed out Emma's embrace and pulled open his backpack. Unearthing the book that seemed to be the cause of all of Emma's problems these days, Henry opened it to a picture of a mine entrance not dissimilar to the one on the edge of town. "There's magic in the mines, according to the book." His eyes were narrowed and resolute. "I think we can prove Operation Cobra once and for all," he concluded.

"What!" Emma reached forward and closed the book with a snap. She had had enough of this fairy tale bullshit and the kid was starting to sound like he had a damn death wish. "Kid, you are not going down into those mines. They're not safe!"

Henry's face fell and he turned to Mary Margaret, "You believe me, don't you?" His eyes were wide and pitiful, and Emma already had made up her mind to call Regina as soon as she could to tell her that Henry needed to be watched a _lot_ more closely than he was now.

Mary Margaret shook her head and sighed. "Henry, the only thing in those mines is disaster; you should stay away from them."

His gaze flicked from his teacher to Emma and back again, disbelief coloring his features as he looked between the two of them. "Why don't you believe me?" he wanted to know, tears starting to fall once again. "Why don't you believe me!" he repeated, this time louder and more insistent. He sounded like a spoiled child who wasn't getting his way, and Emma realized that maybe indulging his ideas about fairy tales and the curse had been a bad idea. Henry was about to do something really, really stupid. The kid shared her genetics, and Emma recognized the 'I'm about to go do something stupid' look in Henry's eyes.

Henry jammed the book back into his backpack and ran towards the door. "I'll prove you all wrong!" he shouted, slamming it behind him.

"He wouldn't…" Mary Margaret trailed off, staring at the door as Emma lunged for her phone and keys.

Emma's mouth was drawn into a hard line. She didn't know if Henry would go straight for the mines, she hadn't seen what he had in his backpack. "I don't know," she muttered. "Stay here in case he comes back?"

She nodded, "Sure. Call me the minute you find him."

"Will do," Emma agreed.

The day was turning dark as Emma hurried up the main street towards Archie Hopper's office. She wanted to know exactly what he had said to Henry to get him acting as though he had something to prove. Emma's mind raced as she tried to reason herself out of thinking that Henry would go to the mine and maybe even venture into it. She knew that that was exactly where he was going, her instincts told her that much.

She nearly collided with Doctor Hopper and Pongo as she turned down Westin Street. He looked as out of breath as she did, his eyes as scared looking. Emma grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him up against the wall of the bookstore they were in front of. "What did you tell him?" she demanded.

The doctor's lip shook and he sighed, "I told him that I couldn't be a part of Operation Cobra anymore because it wasn't real."

"You've destroyed his imagination," Emma levied.

Archie nodded, looking stricken at the very thought of what he had done. "It was not my intention to drive him to such drastic actions." His voice was full of regret for what he had done, and Emma could see the remorse clearly written across his face.

"Then he's gone to the mine," Emma concluded, finally admitting to herself what she had known all along. She had to call Graham, had to call Regina. Henry was in danger. Her mind raced as she backed away from Archie and dug her phone out of her pocket. "You go ahead to the mine, he doesn't have much of a head start, I'm going to get Graham and the Mayor."

"This was her idea," Archie added. "She wanted him to stop believing."

Emma's lips became a thin line. "Maybe it's for the best," she reasoned.

Pongo hurried after Doctor Hopper as Emma turned and dialed the Mayor's number.

db

The Mayor picked her up at the corner of Westin and Main, her expression panicked as Emma explained to her what had happened. Emma watched the woman grip the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands and added, "I think you got what you wanted out of Archie."

"And what is that, dear?" Regina's tone was angry and terse, but there was a hint of fear there that Emma had never heard before. It set Emma at odds with her instincts in this particular moment. She was of the mind to tell Regina to figure it out for herself, but this was _Henry_and he was in danger. They had to rise above whatever petty bullshit was going on between them.

"You got him to destroy Henry's imagination," Emma whispered. She stared ahead of them as the mine's entrance came into view, not daring to look over at the Mayor as she spoke. "You told him to end the one thing that Henry has found safe and good in his life because you think he's an embarrassment to you."

For that, the Mayor must have had no response. Emma let her eyes narrow as she stared out across the expanse of the mine's entrance. There were tracks, she thought, that lead into the mine. It had been rainy all morning and only now was clearing up, and fresh prints lead down the embankment towards the entrance. Pongo was tied to one of the stakes they'd lain earlier that day, but Archie was nowhere in sight.

"Where the hell is he?" Regina demanded as Emma climbed out of the car and half-ran, half-fell down the unstable gravel hill to the mine's entrance. Her feet slipped on the rock and dirty, tilting almost sideways as the mine's entrance shook violently once, twice, before it gave a loud groan and lurched to the left. Emma pitched sideways, her shoulder hitting the ground painfully as she skidded backwards across the ground, legs kicking up in the mud as she tried to get away from the quickly deepening hole.

Almost as suddenly as the tremor had started, it stopped. Emma sat up and blinked, trying to see through the haze of dust and mud in the air. "Henry!" Emma shouted as she pushed herself forward into the dust could. Her shoulder ached, but she shoved at the earth that now covered the mine's entrance, desperate to find a way into the mine to save the little boy. "Henry!"

"Emma!" Graham's voice came through the cloud of dust and he pulled her backwards just as the ground shook again, this time pitching them both backwards towards the sloping walls of this little place of hell that they had found themselves in. He dragged her up the embankment and held her back as she tried to push forward again. "It's not safe!"

Emma's face was streaked with dust and what had to be tears as she clung to Graham as the dust settled. Regina didn't look much better, holding Pongo's leash a few feet away. She was chewing on her lips, her arms wrapped around herself, and Emma wanted to go to her. She shook her head violently, pushing the thought out of her mind as she tried to push herself to her feet. Her shoulder was killing her.

"What do you need me to do," she asked Graham and Regina both. "We're not going to get in that way," she jerked her thumb to the caved in entrance.

"You think I don't know that?!" The Mayor's voice was borderline hysterical and Emma closed her eyes and reached out, fingers brushing against the Mayor's black sweater. "Henry could be _buried alive._" Her whole body was shaking, convulsing as Emma threw caution into the wind and pulled the other woman as close to her as she dared.

She smelled of sweat and of fear, a taste of the ocean on a dark night, Emma wanted to breathe in, wanted to linger, but that was out of the question. "We'll get him out," she promised.

Regina dropped Pongo's leash and the dog skittered off and up a hill, barking and pawing at the ground. Emma stepped back, eyes level with Regina's. There was something besides the usual glare of contempt that so characterized Regina's interactions with Emma in that moment, and Emma felt herself smile in return. "I promise."

"Why would I trust your promise?" Regina asked, staring off in the direction that Pongo had run. The Dalmatian was digging in the dirt, kicking up leaves and rocks, barking excitedly. She held Emma's gaze evenly. "You've brought me nothing but strife."

Emma opened and closed her mouth several times, before turning and walking away, towards Pongo. She could hear the crunch of a second pair of feet in the gravel behind her and when Graham pulled Pongo away from what looked like another way into the mine; he gave a whoop of excitement.

She had never seen the Mayor move so quickly, and Emma ran after her, skirting around the police tape to the top of the small hill that overlooked the pit. Graham was brushing dirt off of a large flat area that looked suspiciously man-made. Emma dropped to her knees and began to move the dry leaves and moss away from what had to be an airshaft. It was a mine, mines needed back doors because it was too damn dangerous not to have them.

"How are we going to get down there?" Emma stared down the old airshaft. Her fingers laced over the rusted grate that covered the hole in the ground and she tried to feel around the edged for a hinge or a lock. A second set of hands joined her own, and she looked up to see Regina feeling across the opposite side of the grate.

"I've got a crowbar in the cruiser," Graham said, getting to his feet. He gave the airshaft's grate a thoughtful look and added, "And a harness."

Regina's eyes flashed and she snapped, "Lower me down." Emma's eyes widened at how resolute the woman looked, and how monumentally bad an idea it was. The woman had been sitting behind a desk for god-only-knew how long. Emma didn't know what sort of shape Regina was in, but to lug a child out of a mine would take a lot more brawn than she suspected the Mayor had.

By this point, other people seemed to have noticed the commotion and had started to gather at the base of the hillside. Graham had paused on his way to the cruiser and was speaking in quiet tones to Leroy and a man that Emma recognized from the local auto repair shop. He was gesturing to the tow truck parked a ways off and then to the grate in the ground and the top of the hill where the grate was.

_Clever._

"Are you kidding?" Emma replied, taking a step forward and touching Regina's arm. She tried not to flinch as Regina jerked away from her touch. "You've been behind a desk for ten years! Let me do it."

"You're lording your level of prison fitness over me in a time like _this?" _Regina scowled and turned away.

Emma bit her lip and accepted the harness that Graham had run up with. She had no answer to that, but she knew that she was right. She let Regina have a moment to see her reasoning and the logic in her actions. It had been years since she'd put on a harness like this, since the last time she'd had to chase someone down a cliff face and into a cave. She'd been twenty two then, and the years were starting to creep up on her.

Fear knotted in the pit of Emma's stomach and she shrugged off her jacket, trying not to think about the fact that Henry could suffocate or be buried alive down there, not to mention Archie.

This was bad, this was very, very bad.

The kid was down a mine shaft, alone save a man who'd betrayed his trust and threatened to destroy the very fabric of the world he held so dear. Emma's jaw was clenched into an angry line as she helped Graham with the harness. She was right in telling Regina that this was not the best work for a desk jockey, but she could see the hurt in the woman's eyes even then. She pulled the final knot tight, checking that each of the straps was doubled back into the clips to prevent slipping should her weight sift suddenly, before stepping forward and tapping the Mayor on the shoulder.

"I meant no offense, before," she said lamely. Regina Mills was many things, and she was a constant unknown in Emma's life. Emma did not know how to act around her on the best of days, and at their worst they were at each other's throats. Still she felt a pull towards the Mayor that she wrote off as her need to be around Henry.

Regina's face was drawn, her lips pressed into a thin line and her eyes wide with worry. She did not shy away this time as Emma let her hand linger on her shoulder, the connection slowing the pull at the pit of Emma's stomach. Steadying it, giving her strength she didn't know she needed to do this. Mines were new for her. Caves, Emma had done, but mines? No, mines were volatile and dangerous even without the cave-ins that currently were plaguing this one. Fear gripped her stomach as she tried to meet Regina's eyes. "I know you didn't," she said quietly. "Just get him back."

_Win my favor._

Emma touched her hand over her heart and inclined her head downwards. "I will," Emma promised and took a step forward into nothingness, dropping with the speed of a daredevil. Had she looked up, she would have seen a pair of dark and thoughtful eyes following her descent into the darkness with a guarded interest.

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_A history in practical etiquette:_

The Evil Queen took the hearts of those most faithful to her as a sign of subservience and loyalty. She had decreed it the gesture of utmost respect and honor to do such a thing, and the entire land had adopted a gesture affirming that that loyalty seemingly overnight. They would touch their hands to their hearts in her presence, ready to plunge their fists inside at a moment's notice to offer up the ultimate sacrifice.

Some did not like the gesture, and thought the queen a cruel witch for taking such things from her most loyal and trusted soldiers. They argued that the practice was barbaric, and that it should be stopped. No one dared oppose the queen in her own lands, so a party was dispatched to the mines far to the north to speak to a man who was said to be able to do anything.

In exchange for what appeared to be very little at the time, the master of magic himself had told them of a demon who could be caught in a small ceramic jar and unleashed near the queen – a demon that ate hearts such as those the queen collected.

"Catch a queen with a monster that eats hearts!" the man-beast had laughed.

_Did they ever catch the demon?_

_All in good time, dearie, all in good time._

* * *

Anyone who knows the show's canon will know that I sort of skipped over a bunch of things and blended them together. I needed to advance the plot, but I also needed to lay a groundwork for the story proper. It's hard to just jump into something for me without establishing very clear motives and origins for a lot of the events in the story beforehand. I know some people are better at that than others. This is my playing fast and lose with canon, the next chapter is when the story really starts to pick up, trust me on this.

Huge thank you to everyone who has reviewed and added this story to their watch and favorites lists. it means a TON to me that you guys took the time to read this story. So thank you, all of you.

Next: The Wolf and the Woods


	4. Chapter 4

** Chapter Four - The Wolf And The Woods**

"Where are you going?" The little boy asked. With his basket full of mushrooms, he seemed content to sit on 'his' rock in the rain and the muck. He was most spectacularly dirty, and didn't seem to mind this in the slightest. His eyes were wide and attentive, watching as the traveler moved back across the clearing to her horse, her hood pulled high against the steady beat of rain.

Her steed had retreated away from the coppery tang of magic, shying away from the constant prick of raindrops on weary withers to the shelter of the tree line. The traveler raised a placating hand to the beast's nose, resting it there for a moment before turning to stare across the clearing at the little boy. It was raining, his mother was probably worried for him and he had no cloak. "I can take you home," she said, and the boy's face erupted into a smile.

Nearly upending his basket, the little boy ran across the clearing, neatly sidestepping the place where the fairy ring had once been. If his magic was to be believed, they would be back in a quarter of a moon's time. Kicking up dirt and wet leaves, the boy drew level with the traveler. He slowed and then finally stopped; basket tucked neatly under one arm, his eyes wide. "Your horse is very big," he commented, reaching up to touch the beast's nose.

The beast sniffed his fingers, lips moving underneath the loop of his bridle. The traveler nodded at her mount's apparent contentment with the child. It was another sign that the little boy was no imp, just a little boy lost in the woods and the rain. She would take him home to his mother; it was the very least she could do.

"He is made for traveling long distances," the traveler explained. She knelt, knee sinking into the muck of the forest floor. "He is my father's."

The little boy's eyes grew wide, "Then your father must be a king, for I have never seen so fine a horse." He tangled his fingers in the crest of her horse's mane, fingering the stark white blaze that cut downwards across his forehead. The traveler figured that he must be accustomed to horses, for his movements were confident and unafraid.

The traveler looked away and shook her head. Her father was no king; she did not even know the man. The void of memory blossomed before her mind's eye and the traveler felt her breath catch. Never before on this journey had she thought about the man and woman she must have come from. Did she have parents? Did she have a father?

It was as if there were two sets of memories blurred together deep within her consciousness. The ground before her swayed and the traveler reached out an arm to steady herself on the stiff leather of her saddle. Her mind raced and she gasped for breath, staring at the child before her. It was just a simple question, but she didn't know the answer.

What had happened in the time they'd spent in the clearing to drive the memories of her childhood from her mind? She had to get away from this place, and fast, before she forgot her purpose and her journey. To take the boy home would be a kindness. Her distrust for the child was growing as her mind felt muddled under the weight of the magic of this place.

Still, she had committed now, she had no choice. Perhaps his mother was a kind woman who would allow the traveler a moment to dry herself before continuing on her journey. The traveler bent and offered her hand to the little boy, scooping him and his basket of mushrooms and settling him onto the horse's back.

With one last look at the clearing, the traveler jammed her foot into her stirrup and slung up behind him. The horse shifted under her weight as she adjusted herself fully into the saddle. She was unaccustomed to riding with another. "You're going to have to tell me where to go," she said, bending to speak into the little boy's ear as he giggled. His fingers had tangled in the horse's mane and the traveler made a point to hold the reins just in front of his hands as she nudged the horse into motion with her heels.

"Follow the stream to where it forks," the little boy said, pointing to a stream bed. The traveler checked the compass around her neck noting the bearing so that she could find her away back to this place if necessary. She hoped it would not be, she did not want to run afoul of such a place again.

The horse walked on, picking a path along the stream bed gingerly. The traveler was content with the pace; she did not want her horse throwing a shoe in these woods. It would take a miracle to find a farrier or a blacksmith in woods such as these.

"Go left here," The boy pointed at a birch growing by itself, white bark stark against the wet brown-gray of the tress around it. The journey was silent after that, the little boy sat still and upright, his posture on the horse excellent.

His mother or father must be skilled on a horse.

Soon a house swam into view in a clearing not dissimilar to the one that they had left. This one had no magic in it, and the ground here was swept clear of leaves and dirt. Grass grew in its place and children's toys littered the open space between the trees and the house.

"Is this your house?" The traveler asked the little boy, who nodded excitedly.

"Do you want to come and meet my mom?"

Emma had fallen asleep in Mary Margaret's bed, curled against her friend's back after coming back from the mine. Her entire body ached for the exertion of pulling both Henry and Archie up from the mine shaft, and her shoulder was killing her. As if to ward off the pain, she had contorted herself into the smallest ball possible. Emma's body only jerked awake as Mary Margaret rose to start her day and nearly rolling off the bed. "Hi," she said tiredly as Mary Margaret blinked sleepily down at her in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt.

"Your bed is upstairs, Emma," Mary Margaret pointed out sleepily, turning and heading to the coffee maker. Emma blinked sleepily after her, decided that she was quite content here, thank you very much, and turned over to snuggle deeper into the bed.

She listened to the sounds of the morning beginning for her roommate and sighed. The dreams were getting worse. Normally she was able to separate the dream's reality from her own, but now they were blurring together into a perfect hodge-podge of her life in Storybrooke and some of Henry's fairy tales. Emma winced as she rolled over onto her back, her shoulder was probably bruised and it ached.

"Sorry," Emma muttered, pushing herself up on her good arm and meeting Mary Margaret's gaze from across the room. "We-I-" she closed her eyes, trying to push back the feeling of nausea as she thought of how Regina had pulled Henry from her arms without a second glance at Emma. The action, no matter how innocent it had been, had cut Emma deep to the bone. "Henry was almost trapped down there."

Mary Margaret set the mug that she'd been holding down onto the kitchen island and crossed to sit down next to Emma. She didn't reach out to touch Emma's bad shoulder, but instead grasped Emma's hand. "But you got him out," she said, eyes earnest and kind. Emma liked Mary Margaret's eyes, they were never judgmental or hard. There was friendliness freely offered in every glance, and Emma was drawn to that, it made her feel safe when she never felt safe before.

Her good arm was shaking as Emma ran a tired hand through her hair. "Yeah, we did."

Eyes crinkling as she spoke, Mary Margaret reached up to cup Emma's cheek. "That's all that matters then."

Emma wanted to say that yes it was, but there were other things that had happened out at the mine entrance, other things that Emma could not explain. She had stepped down that mine shaft without a care; the only thing on her mind had been the Mayor's approval of her actions. It wasn't until Henry was in her arms that she had even realized how badly her shoulder was bruised.

Regina had spoken to her, after the EMTs had checked out her shoulder and given her more ice packs than she'd known what to do with, it hadn't been a thank you. It had been a question that Emma had not been prepared to answer.

"What drove him down there?" The Mayor's eyes had been hard, her body stiff and unwelcome. Emma had wondered at the time if it was because of the stress of the past hours, but she now realized that it was because Emma had touched her. Emma had offered comfort when no other had bothered to try. The very thought of it must have been enough put the Mayor into extra nasty mode.

Emma hadn't known the answer then. "He came to see me," she confessed. "He was upset, sobbing. Doctor Hopper had said something to him - I don't know what - but he had gotten it into his head that the only want to prove the doctor wrong was to go down into the mines."

She recalled how the Mayor's face has hardened even further. She tried not to think about how she'd wanted to reach out and hold the woman again, to calm the sea of emotions that Emma wasn't fool enough to miss running just underneath the surface of Regina Mills' stoic expression. "And I trust you told him that that was a very poorly thought out idea."

"Yes!" Emma had not been able to keep her exasperation out of her voice. "I'm not an idiot, Regina. I have the kid's best interests at heart."

What had happened next had been enough to drive Emma into a rage unlike many she had experienced in recent years. Regina had taken a step forward, her mouth dangerously close to Emma's ear as she hissed, "Then you should leave, Miss Swan, before Henry's best interests become more than your fear of commitment can handle."

Mary Margaret's hand shoving a steaming mug of coffee into her face jerked Emma out of her thoughts and she accepted it gratefully. "Thank you," she said, cupping her hands around the mug.

"You looked lost in thought," Mary Margaret had pulled on a second sweater against the morning chill, and slippers that looked like they should belong to a seventy year old man.

Emma nodded, "Sorry, I was."

"Thinking about Henry?" Mary Margaret asked conversationally.

"No. His mother."

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Emma very carefully avoided Henry and his mother for a few days after the incident at the mine. Her emotions were incredibly conflicted when it came to both Henry and Regina, and the distance was helping Emma to attempt to put her thoughts into order. She was settling here, she knew it. Putting down roots, finding a place for herself within the town's culture.

The idea terrified Emma, frankly. The last place that she'd felt even remotely comfortable was Tallahassee. Even then, in that hell-hole of a city, Emma had felt the near-constant pull of the road. She wanted to move on from the minute she'd arrived and unpacked her belongings from the back of the Volkswagen. Storybrooke was different; it drew her in and held her tightly. Emma found herself fitting into the town like she would in the embrace of a long-lost lover.

Graham had come in for the evening shift just as Emma was heading out on patrol about a week after the mine incident. He had an early meeting with the Mayor over the department's budget now that Emma had settled into being a more permanent addition to the staff. "We can trade cars," he said with a suggestively raised eyebrow. "I doubt that I'll be all that long, should be done around five or so."

Emma waved her keys at him and headed for the door. The town's lone municipal parking lot was located behind the court house, and Emma had taken to parking her car there and walking by Granny's Diner in the morning before coming into work for a cup of coffee and a bearclaw. Graham had realized pretty quickly and had begun to mooch donuts and coffee off her as he was coming off his nightshifts and headed to what Emma hoped was bed.

She'd really grown attached to Graham; he was like an overgrown puppy, constantly seeking out her attention. If Emma didn't know better, she'd hazard a guess that Graham liked her. The thought made her grin as she climbed into the cruiser. She wasn't in the mental place for romance, not with the near-constant reminder of one of her worst romantic decisions.

It wasn't easy to think of Henry's adoring face when she thought about the boy's father. It wasn't easy for Emma to think of those nights when her life had truly seemed as though it had hit rock bottom and then to see their end result alive and beautiful before her eyes. She had wanted a closed adoption because Henry was a reminder of the harshness of her own childhood, and Emma hated herself for seeing him that way. He didn't deserve it.

Patrol was easy, it gave Emma time to think, time to contemplate how no one really broke the law in Storybrooke. The extent of her deputy duties had been limited, for the most part, to public intoxication and domestic complaints. Emma had rescued exactly one cat, named Oliver, from a tree and had gotten her picture in the paper, hanging upside-down from her knees as she presented the cat back to its owner. Sydney Glass had given the article a headline that had made even Emma's sense of decency cringe.

Turning down Main Street, Emma noticed Henry ducking out of Mr. Gold's pawn shop and narrowed her eyes. Gold was bad news, even Henry knew that, so why was he in the pawnbroker's shop?

Slowing the cruiser, Emma rolled down the window and called out to Henry: "Hey kid!"

Henry turned, his scarf off-kilter around his neck as he glanced across the street and hurried across upon seeing no approaching traffic. His cheeks were rosy in the autumn chill, and Emma frowned at his lack of hat or hood in this spitting rain. "Hi Emma!" He said brightly.

"Hey Henry," She replied. She leaned over to open the passenger door and Henry hurried around to the other side of the car. After he'd climbed in and settled the bag from Mr. Gold's shop in the back seat, Emma pulled the car back onto the road and asked, "What were you doing in Mr. Gold's shop?"

Henry shrugged, "It was raining so soccer practice was canceled." Emma hadn't known he played soccer, but the bruises that she was always seeing on Henry's shins suddenly made a whole heck of a lot more sense. "I called my mom on Trevor's mom's cell phone, she said she was in the middle of a meeting so I should walk home." Henry took a deep breath, "Then Mr. Gold saw me and said something that my mom had ordered had come and asked if I would mind taking it to her."

It seemed... rather innocent, really, but Emma didn't trust Gold further than she could throw him. "That was very grown up of you," she said judiciously.

She drove slowly, talking to Henry about his day and about his homework. Eventually they ended up parked in front of the Mayor's house. Emma shoo'ed him out of the car because he had promised his mother that he'd go home and start his homework. The Mayor had been intolerable enough as it was without Emma contributing to Henry's supposed delinquency.

"What about Operation Cobra?" Henry asked, leaning in through the window.

Emma gave a very small shrug, "I don't know, kid." She did not want to tempt fate any more after the mine incident. She smiled at Henry, "The sheriff has got me working pretty hard this week, but he likes to work the weekend, so maybe we can talk to your mom about me taking you to breakfast on Saturday."

Henry shook his head, "Can't, I have a soccer game."

"I could come to that?" Emma suggested with a raised eyebrow. Maybe she could get Mary Margaret out of her David Nolan-induced-funk as well. Youth soccer, yet another thing she'd missed out on.

A smile erupted across Henry's face and he nodded excitedly before turning and running towards the front door. He dug in his pocket for a minute, unearthing a key attached to a fob in the shape of a swan. He unlocked the door and turned to wave at Emma, still grinning as she put the car back into drive and headed back into town.

Two hours and a speeding ticket for a Mr. French later, Emma was heading towards municipal parking lot looking forward to getting home for the evening and helping Mary Margaret make soup. The weather had been cold and rainy all week and her roommate had been comfort-cooking up a storm. Last night it had been homemade sourdough bread, tonight was the soup to go with it.

Preoccupied though she was, Emma couldn't help but notice as the Mayor and Graham walked out of the city office building together. They were walking a little closer than Emma had ever seen them walk, and he was carrying her briefcase and what appeared to be her shoes. Rolling her eyes, Emma swung the cruiser into an open parking spot. She was trying very hard to not think about what those two could have possibly gotten up to during a budget meeting that would have led to Graham carrying the Mayor's goddamn shoes around. Most of her scenarios were far more out of Henry's imagination than her own – to be honest. A whole lot of evil and witch was going on, that much was for sure.

Emma climbed out of the cruiser and tugged her own keys out of her jacket pocket before closing the door with her hip and heading towards Graham. "One speeding ticket," she said to him, handing him the keys with a flourish. "And a full tank of gas."

Graham awkwardly accepted the keys between two fingers, tucking the Mayor's shoes under his arm. One of the heels looked to have broken, which made Emma smile just a little bit.

"Deputy," The Mayor said, taking her briefcase and shoes from Graham. She was wearing battered-looking sneakers that looked like they were usually used for yard work, not that the state of Emma's running shoes was much better. They were still in Boston, soon to be packed up with the rest of her stuff and shipped here. Emma had contacted a moving company over her lunch break.

Emma inclined her head, "Madame Mayor."

Graham headed towards the cruiser and Emma turned to head towards her car. She didn't have anything to say to Regina anyway. Henry was sure to tell her that Emma had given him a ride home after she'd seen him with –

Oh shit! Emma turned and headed back towards the cruiser, thinking of the bag that she hadn't seen Henry bring into the house. "Hey Graham, is there a bag in the backseat?"

"Yup!" Graham leaned over the driver's seat and grabbed the bag, turning to hand it to Emma. "What is that?" He asked.

Emma shrugged, she didn't know. It felt solid, like an urn or a jug. She popped open the bag, but the object was wrapped in newspaper, no doubt to protect it on its perilous journey in the hands of a ten-year-old. "Henry picked it up from Gold for his mom…" She turned to see the Mayor watching them over the roof of her car, and waved, turning and heading over.

Regina had parked clear across the parking lot, and Emma found herself smiling just a little sheepishly as she drew level with the car. "My son is waiting for me," Regina said, her tone icy as Emma held out the bag.

"He left that in the cruiser. I gave him a ride home because it was raining," Emma explained as Regina took the bag and stared at the logo on the side. Shifting from one foot to the other, Emma shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. "Look, I don't know about you, but I'd rather Henry not spend any more time around Mr. Gold than absolutely necessary, so maybe you can pick up your own orders from now on, eh, Madame Mayor?"

The expression that graced the Mayor's face was one of confusion, rather than annoyance at Emma's comment, which was strange. Emma was so used to the Mayor taking everything she said and simply running with it as a negative without even bothering to process and comprehend what was being said, that for her to have a pensive, or even confused expression was something else.

"I haven't ordered anything from Gold's shop in a long time," Regina muttered and pulled open the bag. The newspaper-wrapped packet was roughly the side of a basketball, only it seemed to be thinner and more oblong. The wrappings fell away easily; the confusion on Regina's face fading to a look that Emma could not quite place. She had seen the Mayor terrified, seen her worried and seen her scared. This expression was darker than that, more violent. It made Emma want to back away slowly and leave Regina to her volatile emotions.

Inside the newspaper was a small black and white urn with an old looking symbol on it. Emma, for a while when she was about fourteen, had been really into Norse myths and it almost looked like one of their letters was carved in to the middle of the bottle and a thick piece of cork formed a stopper at the top. Regina held it like it was freezing cold, or a thousand degrees. She shifted it from one side to the next, staring at it with narrowed, fathomless eyes.

"Cool urn," Emma commented.

"Quite, Ms. Swan," The Mayor retorted. While the remark was characteristically cutting, Regina's next actions were anything but. She moved very slowly, unlocking her car door and setting her ruined shoes and briefcase inside before closing it and jamming her keys so far down her pants pocket that Emma thought she might have been looking to do something else while she was down there. She hurriedly pushed that thought out of her mind, however.

Regina walked into the middle of the parking lot and set the urn down on the pavement there. Emma leaned against the Mayor's car and watched as the woman stared down at the urn for a long moment. She seemed to be contemplating it, examining it on all sides. After a moment, and Emma shifting uncomfortably against Regina's car, the Mayor seemed to arrive at a conclusion. She raised her sneakered foot and kicked the urn over.

The kicking was, when Emma thought about it later, probably the complete opposite of anything Emma thought Regina would do in such a situation. It seemed petulant, almost childish to do such a thing. Emma had no idea what sort of relationship there was between Mr. Gold and Regina, but it certainly did not seem all that pleasant.

Emma watched charred rock and ash erupted from the broken urn. It settled quickly, unhindered by the rain and breeze that had cropped up over the course of their conversation. Regina stared at the dust on the ground for a moment before she turned and walked back to Emma. She folded her arms across her chest and almost dared Emma to ask what that was all about. Emma, for her part, didn't. She was distracted by the way that the ash was moving on the ground.

It didn't seem to be being moved by the wind, that much was for sure. Regina offered up an explanation, her tone annoyed. "Mr. Gold needs to learn that trying to drag out old memories is only going to make me angry," she explained, but by this point Emma certainly wasn't listening.

A breeze had caught the ash, mixing it with the spitting rain that was just starting to pick up again. It swirled around the parking lot in a way that was most decidedly not normal, drifting from one car to the next before floating to hover over the broken remains of the urn that Regina had destroyed. Emma's hand was shaking as she reached forward to grab the Mayor and shove her into her car and away from whatever the fuck was happening before her. Her fingers closed around nothing as Regina shifted, away and forward, her entire body turning as she followed Emma's wide-eyed gaze.

Emma watched as all the color drained from her face, leaving her lips a far starker red than usual. It appeared to be growing solid, right before their very eyes. The ash was giving way to skin and bone, clawed feet settled onto the ground, pawing at the pavement. Emma felt fear grip her deep in her belly as the Mayor reached out a blind hand and grabbed, helplessly, for Emma's arm. "Run," she whispered, her voice shaking.

She didn't need telling twice, Graham and the shotgun that usually resided in the back of the cruiser were long-gone by this point. Whatever had been in that urn was apparently not friendly. "What the hell is that?" Emma demanded, her hand dropping to grab Regina's as she pulled them away from the cars that still dotted the lot. The woods were to one side, and the town to the other, Regina was headed towards the woods – away from other people. "Why-"

The beast threw back its head and howled long and low. It seemed like a wolf of some sort, but the very sound of the cry that fell from its jaws was unlike anything that Emma had ever heard. It was full of rage and sorrow, and it struck a chord deep within her – a beast desperate for a home. She risked a glance over her shoulder, and her blood turned cold.

A wolf unlike any that Emma had ever seen pictures of stood in the middle of the parking lot, its paws clawing at the pavement there. It had cleaved clear through the asphalt down to the earth below, kicking up dirt and rock as it sniffed the ground. Emma wasn't an idiot. She knew that, improbable though it was, the beast would catch their scent eventually. That couldn't happen. She was an officer of the law now; she had to get the Mayor and herself to safety.

Grunting, Emma pulled Regina down behind the low concrete wall that divided the parking lot from the forest. They were gunning for safety, to get away from whatever that thing was that Regina had … let out? It was out of Henry's stories and certainly had no place in the harsh reality of the day.

Her entire world was tumbling down around her and Emma wondered for what felt like the first time, if Henry was indeed telling the truth. Regina hardly looked like a queen, her eyes wide and terrifying as she peered out over the low wall at the wolf-beast-thing. "We have to get away from here," she muttered. The beast's ears swiveled towards the sound of her voice and terrified breathing.

Something crashed behind them and Emma's hands were shaking as she plunged her hand under her jacket where she kept her gun. Her hands closed around empty air and she remembered that with the shift change and patrol, she'd left the gun locked in the station's gun safe. There was a shotgun in the cruiser's trunk if they needed it. Like now, a shotgun would be damn good right about now. "Fuck," she muttered, skidding backwards on her hands, dirt splattering up the side of her pants. The ground was wet; it had snowed for the first time just a few days ago. The sea air had melted it, and now the perpetual damp seeped into the seat of Emma's pants as she half-crawled, half-ran towards the forest.

A dark looming shape grew heavy on the horizon and Emma scrambled further to her feet and grabbed the Mayor's hand. The woman looked shocked, eyes wide but without the fear Emma felt. Her fingers were pressed to her lips and she looked more human in that moment that Emma had ever seen her before. There was a twig and a few leaves in her hair from where Emma had pulled her down behind the wall that served their only protection from the beast's gaze. "We gotta get into the woods," Emma said, pulling at Regina. "Lose it in the trees."

"This-" Regina's voice sounded frightened as she allowed Emma to drag her into the woods. She was tripping, stumbling in Emma's wake. Emma urged them both on, muscles in her legs straining. She had to get them out of here, and fast. That thing, whatever it was, was coming for them.

The crashing behind them slowed and then fell silent. Emma found a downed tree near the crest of a low hill that had decent cover. "Get down," she whispered. She felt winded, but was relieved when the Mayor did what was requested of her. They both hunkered down behind the rotting, moss-covered tree trunk. After what seemed like hours of desperately trying to catch her breath, Emma risked a look over their shelter.

The woods were silent, not a bird or cricket to be heard. Emma's eyes narrowed as she scanned the area once before ducking her head back down. "I don't know what the hell you let out of that thing, but I doubt it can see us from here."

"This shouldn't be happening," Regina muttered, scrambling in her pockets, searching for something, apparently. Emma wanted her to say what the hell was going on. It wasn't fair that this was happening, not when so much of it to this point had seemed like a fairy tale dream. Her nostrils flared, watching Regina. She'd ask her questions later.

Emma longed for the protection of the gun her station warranted. It was safe, back in town, locked up and away where no one could get at it. She began to hunt around on the ground, gathering a few larger stones and setting them to the side. She'd seen Lord of the Rings, she knew that sometimes all it took to get away was a well-placed throw of a rock.

"Don't-" Regina's voice was strained. Emma looked up at her sharply, eyes narrowed and alert. The Mayor had her thumb in her mouth, biting down hard enough to draw blood. "Don't move," she commanded, pulling the bloody finger from her lips.

"What the hell are you doing?" Emma hissed at her as the Mayor shifted her weight towards her. In the distance, there was a startled caw of a crow, followed by the howl that they'd both heard earlier.

The Mayor shook her head and pressed her bloody thumb to Emma's forehead, tracing a line down her nose to her lips. She pulled it out across Emma's left cheek, forming a spiral and drew a cross across her right. "There is no magic in this world," Regina explained as Emma flinched as she withdrew her thumb from Emma's face. "That beast shouldn't be here."

She tilted her head to the side, eyes half-trained on the clearing before them. Emma's breath came heavy as the Mayor leaned in, her face as close to Emma's as it had ever been. She could feel rather than see the mist from Regina's own terrified breathing as the Mayor inspected her handiwork.

"What did you do?" Emma demanded again, raising her hands up to touch her face.

Regina slapped her hand away. "Do not touch them," she growled. "I fear their power may already be too weak to protect you."

"If this is all we got, we're fucked," Emma commented, gesturing towards her face.

"Oh that's only half of the puzzle, dear," Regina replied.

The roar of the creature came again, much closer this time. Regina leaned forward and pressed her lips to Emma's forehead. "You have the queen's favor," she promised, as Emma felt something hard and metallic appear between them. She grasped it, pulling it out of seemingly nowhere, and holding it aloft.

It was the first time that Emma had ever held a sword in her hands, and she'd drawn it out of the heart of Regina Mills. Its handle felt warm and comforting under her fingers, the leather there worn and stained with the sweat of what had to be many battles. Emma stared at it for a long moment before testing the weight. Her dreams, whether she liked it or not, had prepared her for this moment.

"You wouldn't happen to have a gun in there would you?" Emma asked, peering down at the smooth skin underneath the mayor's blouse. A button had popped out of place, revealing more skin than Emma was accustomed to and she felt a heat rise to her face that had very little to do with the terror she still felt at the beast's approach.

Regina glanced down and pulled her shirt closed. Scowling, she retorted, "Be grateful I have anything at all, Ms. Swan."

Behind them, the beast roared and Emma grasped the sword tighter to her chest. She didn't know how to use the sword. Dreams were just that, dreams. She had no practical knowledge of how to do this.

She had to protect Regina, the Mayor – the Evil Queen? She'd get back to getting the answer to that question later. Henry was going to be so mad that she'd done magic and he hadn't been there to glare accusingly at his mother while judging her for whatever wrong she had done to him. "Stay here," she said with a glare that had no real menace behind it. Her hand touched Regina's shoulder, fingers brushing against the smooth silk of her blouse.

At that moment, Emma had a million things she wanted to say. The thoughts of all of them vanished as the beast behind her roared once more. The sword felt a welcome and comforting weight in her hand and Emma launched herself over the fallen tree towards the beast.

She couldn't think of how this would look later, when she was inevitably found, mauled to death with a sword in hand and blood smeared in strange patterns across her face. Graham would probably write her off as unstable and she was sure that Regina would tell Henry something similar. The woman was far more complicated than Emma had ever imagined.

How had this creature come into existence, how had the ash that had been in that damn urn somehow created it? What was Mr. Gold trying to kill them?

That was probably the most pressing and relevant question, in Emma's mind.

Her boots slid in the damp earth as she tried to get her footing. She was half-running, half-falling down the hill. Her arm dragged the sword behind her, tip nearly falling into the earth. Emma didn't need to test the blade to know that it was wickedly sharp.

She had been given a blessing that she understood to the very core of her being. Regina had offered her something that had never seemed possible to Emma before that moment. A blessing - _favor_ - Emma didn't know what to call it, but she sure as hell was going to embrace it for the time being.

The wolf-like creature crashed through the trees and Emma ran to meet it. She was filled with a powerful desire to protect what was dear to her - this beast a threat to the town and to Henry. She would face it head on and defeat it because that was what had been asked of her by one of noble blood.

The claws on the beast looked more like a cat's than a dog's, slashing forward with razor sharp precision as Emma dodged and rolled out of their way. The thing was the size of a horse, all teeth and claws and the stench of dying things around it. Emma countered with the sword as best she could, battering away at the beast's paws whenever it got close enough to attack.

This couldn't be happening. The beast was too powerful, too _unnatural_ to exist on earth. Emma set her jaw and charged forward, sword above her head as she swiped downwards and across - desperate to draw blood.

The sword connected with the soft flesh of the beast's shoulder and it fell back, letting out an almost indignant howl. Emma paused, sword held ready to thrust forwards into the beast's heart. Her blood was pounding in her ears, so loudly she could scarcely hear the sounds of the beast before her. She lunged forward and found herself hitting hard against claws and a paw that packed more kick than a mack truck.

Breath gone from her lungs, Emma was thrown backwards across the forest floor. The beast advanced, snarling low in its throat as Emma tried to dig her heels into the dirt and push herself back. She couldn't breathe, no matter how hard she tried to force air back into her body.

Her mind felt fuzzy and she was sure that she was at least a little bit concussed by the force of the blow the beast had delivered to her. No matter what she did she could not force herself to focus, her mind was moving so sluggishly that Emma was sure that this would be the first and only sword fight she'd ever participate it. She was at peace with that, she just had to protect the queen.

Something hard connected with her back and Emma felt panic grip her realized that she'd backed herself into a tree. The beast pressed forwards, lunging and Emma could barely find the energy to raise the sword to protect herself.

Just as suddenly as the attack came, it stilled. The coppery smell of blood filtered down and Emma's nostrils flared. Emma cracked an eye open to stare the beast dead in the face - ferocious-looking teeth just inches from her neck.

Her arm hurt from the exertion of what she'd just done, and Emma felt her mouth drop open as the life left the beast's eyes. "Oh," she muttered, watching with tired eyes as the beast tipped, sword impaled through the underside of its jaw. Emma let it drop, watching with hazy eyes as the beast rolled over onto it's back, sword sticking upwards, an awkward fifth leg.

The beast's body seemed to shudder once, before it seemed to crumple in upon itself. Fur, bone and teeth returned to the black and gray ash that had been in the urn to begin with. Emma watched as the sword that she'd used to slay the beast seemed to glow a pure white before it sank down into the ground – standing stark upright. It was the lone reminder of what had happened here.

Emma blinked the blood from her eyes. It smelled of copper and sulfur - of the magic she barely remembered from her dreams. Her hands swiped at the cut on her forehead, but her fingers could not connect to skin. The swirl of Regina's blood on her cheek burned, before fading away into nothingness. Emma let her hand drop, head tilting back to rest against the tree trunk.

The sky above them was clearing, night was falling. Emma could see the reds and purples of the sunset illuminating the clouds overhead as the trees swayed in the breeze.

She felt hands on her face, gently slapping, trying to keep her awake. Emma wanted to keep her eyes open, but the effort was too much. Her eyelids felt like weight of the world was on them, and she half-heard Regina's voice calling her name. Not Ms. Swan, not Deputy, just _Emma._ It sounded good, coming from Regina's lips, Emma thought.

A contented smile drifted across Emma's face at that last conscious though as she passed out. Regina had called her by her name.

db

_Did you know, did you know?_

__The Dark One will tell you that names hold power. The enable a noble to command a commoner, they provide intimacy in a way that is understood and yet not understood among men. It is the most powerful gift, to give a name freely.

The White Knight never knew what she was giving away to the Queen Who Stole Hearts.

_Have you heard, have you heard?_

* * *

Annnnnnnnnd we have veered into mad crazy AU! Graham was initially going to die in this, dropping the urn to unleash the wolf monster - but I decided that he would live to die another day. I wanted - needed - Regina to be the one to unleash the monster so that it could be of her own doing. The whole situation is entirely her fault - which will translate better later on.

A huge thank you to everyone who has reviewed the story up to this point. You guys are all amazing and awesome!

Next: The Secret and The Oath


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five – The Secret and The Oath**

The traveler stood back, her hand gripping tightly to the reins of her horse. The little boy had hopped off of the horse as they moved into the clearing, landing on his knees with his basket wobbling precariously as he scrambled to his feet and ran for the door to his house. The traveler didn't know this witch who was apparently his mother, didn't know her alliances or how she chose to use her magic. Distance was one of the few weapons one could possess against magic. Her sword was not spelled to protect her, and her horse was not tested in magical combat.

The wars the horse had seen had been bloody; she had been shielded by the pull at the pit of her stomach, drawn away from the battles to seek out the destination she still could never quite place. Her people thought her a coward and weak. Her father, from what the traveler could remember of him, had looked at her with kind eyes that hid the hurt of her absence so well. He had clasped her warmly on the shoulder and told her to be on her way. The traveler had to leave, the traveler could not linger.

This little house in this clearing full of children's toys possessed by a truly unique little boy gave her pause. She wanted to at least meet his mother. The rain had intensified to a steady beat against the thick wool of her cloak; slowly it was beginning to soak through. It was growing colder as the hidden sun set behind the mountains that surrounded the forest. Shadows were staring to grow long as the traveler led her horse warily across the clearing towards the door where the little boy lingered, chattering away happily to an unseen person.

"This is…" the little boy trailed off. He'd taken off his hat and his brown hair was sticking every which way now. His eyes shined in the light from the doorway, but they quickly dulled as a taller figure stepped into the light, peering out at the traveler as she held her horse steady.

The traveler inclined her head, telling the woman in the doorway her name.

"You helped my son," the woman in the doorway said. Her voice sounded tired, as if the effort of having a small child of maybe five or six summers was too much for her. The traveler watched her dark hair, contained in a plait down her back, glisten in the light. There was something familiar about the woman. The traveler could see the sadness in her eyes, and she wondered what had happened to this beautiful woman to make her that way. "Thank you."

The traveler inclined her head deferentially. She still did not trust a witch; her mother had brought her up to be wary of them. There had been an incident, when her mother was far younger, that had driven her mother to distrust magic users. The traveler had never asked after it, and her mother had never shared what had happened. There was an unspoken rule in her family to never discuss her mother's past. "It was the right thing to do," she said quietly.

The witch's eyes sparkled, "You must come inside, get dry." She stepped aside and gestured for the traveler to follower her into the house.

The traveler raised her eyebrows, fear curling around the base of her stomach. Witches kept their promises, her mother had said, always. "Is there a place for my horse?" she asked. She did not want to presume, but her horse was as wet and weary as she was. They both were in need of a dry place to sleep and recover from the distance they'd traveled together.

"Certainly," the witch said. Her fingers snapped and a deep purple cloak that seemed far richer than the simple house and the witch's dress should be able to afford. The witch slung it over her shoulders and pulled the hood up. "Follow me," she said, stepping out into the rain and pulling the door shut behind her.

The traveler's hand remained on her sword as she followed the witch. Her eyes were wide and cautious, her footing tentative. The grass in this clearing seemed unnaturally green and perfectly straight. It was unnerving. Her horse seemed very interested in it, head dipping downwards to mouth at it whenever the traveler relaxed her hands on the reigns enough to allow the motion.

"Did my son tell you we keep a horse?" the witch asked, her dark eyes turning to meet the traveler's. She had led them behind the house to a small building with a well-thatched roof. A slatted window cut into the wall revealed the hooded and curious eyes of a horse. The traveler surveyed the building, and turned to face the witch. Their eyes caught again and the traveler felt a lump grown in her throat. There was a sparkle in the witch's that drifted down to blood red lips – lips the traveler was finding it difficult to pull her eyes from.

Shaking her head, the traveler relinquished the reins of her mount. "I had wondered," she allowed, watching as the witch quickly and efficiently maneuvered her mount into a stall and began to remove his tack with the practiced ease of one long-accustomed to grooms work. The traveler moved to remove her saddle bags, slinging them over her shoulder and wincing as the wet leather soaked clean through her jacket and tunic to press, cold and clammy, against her skin. "He seems very comfortable riding."

"He's getting there," the witch lamented, her tone was that of a mother not entirely satisfied by her child's progress. The traveler knew that tone very well; it was a mainstay on her mother's lips. "Brushes are in that bucket," the witch pointed towards a bucket on the far wall.

"You're very kind," The traveler said, feeling the eyes of both the witch and the witch's mount – a huge black horse of indeterminate origins – on her as she moved through the small stable. She was beginning to feel more at ease around this woman, and her kindness was exceptional. The traveler was willing to wager that her offer would be refused, but the rules of chivalry had to be obeyed at all costs, "I can pay you-"

The witch shook her head, eyes flashing dangerously. "There is no need. You showed my son a kindness when many would not."

"And why is that?" The traveler asked.

"Because I am the witch who was once the queen," the witch explained, watching with mild surprise as the bucket full of brushes fell to the ground out of the traveler's shaking hand.

Emma awoke to a bright light shining into her eyes and Doctor Whale's face disturbingly close to her own. Raising a hand against the light, Emma attempted to pull herself backwards and away from him. Her face twisted downwards into a grimace of pain and she pressed herself further back into wherever it was she was lying, trying to escape his inquisitive gaze.

"Ah, you're back," Dr. Whale said cheerfully. He tucked his eye light death ray back into his pocket made a note on a clip board resting on the bed next to Emma's shoulder. "You took quite a nasty blow to the head, Deputy."

Emma raised her hand to touch her head, gingerly feeling at the raised welt on the back of her head and the bandage wrapped tightly and itching on her forehead. "What happened?" she asked, squinting and peering around. Over in the corner of the room, she could see Henry curled up and asleep, a suit jacket draped over him. Outside the door, the unmistakable dark hair and feminine form of Regina Mills could be seen, apparently talking on the phone.

"There was a rabid dog," Dr. Whale explained, gesturing to a second Band-Aid, high on Emma's shoulder. It explained why her entire arm felt numb, and Emma let her head fall back onto the pillow. "It was in the parking lot when you and Mayor were there; it chased you both into the woods." Dr. Whale gave Emma and appraising look, eyes shining with something that Emma's head hurt too much to place. "You're quite the hero."

It hadn't been a dog, Emma thought darkly. Her head felt like mush. She couldn't focus on Dr. Whale, or her thoughts, or anything. "What-" she began, again feeling the lump on her head. She hadn't felt like this in years, since before she'd left the last home she'd been put in. It felt like the reason she'd left all over again.

"You're concussed," Dr. Whale explained. "Pretty bad one at that," he flipped her chart over. "As you have no family in town, and Mayor Mills brought you in, she's been acting as your medical proxy."

Emma's eyes widened, which caused the pounding in her head to increase. She frowned and struggled to sit up. "Did she have you _do_ anything?"

"Really, Ms. Swan," Regina's voice came cold across the room. "I would hardly involve the good doctor in my diabolical plan of getting you medical attention for a head wound."

If her head didn't hurt so much, Emma might have rolled her eyes. Might being the key word there, because she seriously felt like she was going to pass out again. Her eyes felt heavy and Doctor Whale leaned in and pulled out his stupidly bright light again. He checked her pupils and Emma wanted to scratch his eyes out. It hurt when he did that. Everything hurt. Why couldn't she just go back to sleep and figure out what was going on in her dream?

"Do I have to stay here?" Emma asked tiredly. It was all she could do to keep her eyes open.

The Mayor's hand closed around her own, fingers uncomfortably warm. Regina had a Band-Aid on her cheek and a bandage wrapped around her thumb. Emma remembered what had happened then, what Regina had said to her as she drew strange designs across Emma's face in blood. She glanced down at their joined hands and Regina pulled her hand away hurriedly. "It is probably for the best," she explained with a pointed look at Doctor Whale. He took the hint and hurried out of the room.

"Did you kill someone's dog?" Emma asked as the door closed behind the doctor. Her head ached but she remembered the beast, remembered killing the beast that had come out of that ash. She could feel it's eyes on her even now and terror gripped her deep in her belly. That had not been of this world, she knew it now.

Regina bent, her eyes were dark and impossibly close to Emma's own. There was a maelstrom of emotion hidden in them and Emma wanted to know what was even _real_ in the past days and weeks she'd been in Storybrooke. Had Henry been right about the curse all along?

Fingers curled back around Emma's hand and she felt one tentative and encouraging squeeze before the Mayor answered. "Honestly, Deputy, what sort of a person do you think I am?"

"Right now," Emma said, concentrating very hard on each word, "I don't really know."

"Storybrooke has strays, and not every dog is immunized in this town. It was unfortunate, but it happened," Regina explained simply. Her grip grew tighter. "Because that _is_ what happened, Ms. Swan."

Emma's lower lip jutted out and she would have scowled but the effort it took to pull her face down into such an expression. She settled on a frown and turned a contemplative gaze towards the Mayor. "If that's what you want to tell people, then sure." Her eyes narrowed and she added, "But we will be discussing this."

Slowly, an almost predatory smile spread across Regina's face and she dropped Emma's hand onto the bed and moved towards Henry's sleeping form. "Indeed," she said quietly, picking up her jacket and shrugging it on before gently shaking Henry awake. "We shall, Ms. Swan."

Emma watched as Henry tiredly wrapped his arms around his mother's neck and smiled as he turned a half-awake gaze towards her as she lifted him up. "Hey kid," she said quietly.

"Hi," Henry replied, adjusting his head to rest comfortably on Regina's shoulder. He gave a half-hearted wave before his eyes fluttered closed once more. Emma watched with a fond smile that really shouldn't have been on her face as Regina maneuvered through the room with the ease of one long-accustomed to hauling tired little boys around in her arms.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" Emma asked, feeling sleep attempt to claim her once more.

Regina paused, her hand on the door and her shoulders ramrod straight. "I called Ms. Blanchard. She took your car back to her apartment. She'll pick you up in the morning." There was a smile on her lips as she added. "Graham has taken you off active duty for the rest of the week. Come see me in the afternoon – don't drive."

"Yes'm," Emma muttered sleepily.

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Mary Margaret came to pick Emma up the following afternoon after school. The clock had hit three and Emma was beginning to wonder if she'd actually be allowed to leave that afternoon. Her head was feeling far clearer today than yesterday. She was dog tired, the nurses had woken her up faithfully every hour to give her fluids and check her vitals. She was surprisingly resilient, according to Doctor Whale, so he was releasing her into Mary Margaret's care with little worry that she'd be back.

"You look awful," Mary Margaret commented as Emma laced up her boot and surveyed her jacket. There was a large tear through the back, where that thing had nearly ripped her clean in two with its claws. "Must have been some dog."

Nodding wearily, Emma said, "Yeah, total monster of a thing." She tried to keep her expression hardened, but emotionless. Mary Margaret had a knack for reading Emma's body language and discerning what was actually going on in the thoughts Emma struggled to keep hidden. She shrugged on the jacket, ignoring the tear at the back. Maybe she could as Mary Margaret to fix it – she had no skill with a needle. "'m Glad that my jacket took the worst of it."

"I'll say," Mary Margaret gave a little giggle and lead the way out of the room. Emma stopped at the nurses' station to sign her discharge papers and to grin stupidly at the tired-looking woman who was shuffling papers around. She'd been there all night; Emma was acutely familiar with her face after the three o'clock wake up when she'd nearly clocked the woman.

As they walked out to Mary Margaret's beat up old Jeep, Mary Margaret gave Emma's jacket an appraising look. "You should get that fixed," she commented, gesturing to the large tear across the back of it. "I don't know if I can fix it, but we have a cobbler in town that's pretty good with leather. His name's Eli, have you met him?"

Of course there was a cobbler in this tiny ass Podunk town, Emma thought darkly, getting into the car. There was a story about it in Henry's book – she was sure of that. "I'll look into it," she said, trying to stop the conversation before it started. Her mind was elsewhere and she had no energy for Mary Margaret's happy ramblings about Eli the man who fixed shoes.

It took Emma almost twenty minutes once they arrived home to convince Mary Margaret that she was okay to leave the apartment. Mary Margaret wanted her to go straight to bed and actually get a decent night's sleep after the night that she had had, but Emma knew that if she did not catch Regina in the approved moment that what little explanation she was going to get would turn to dust. "I told Henry I'd see him," she explained, changing into a clean jacket and jeans. She wore sneakers because her boots were too much effort and sweatshirt that Emma was pretty dated back to her birth year.

Mary Margaret looked disapprovingly into her cocoa and shrugged, "Call me if you need a ride later."

They stared at each other across the kitchen island, Emma raised an awkward hand to the bandage on her head. The stitches there itched and she knew she couldn't scratch them. Mary Margaret scowled and turned away, "Don't scratch at it."

"Trying not to," Emma said good naturedly. She took her keys from the counter and waved her hand in response as Mary Margaret turned around and raised a questioning eyebrow at her. She wouldn't pick the scab and make the wound worse - the last thing she wanted were more scars. "I will call - if I need a ride," she lied. She would not be calling and Mary Margaret hopefully wasn't fool enough to think that she would.

The Mayor's office was mostly abandoned as Emma slipped in through the back entrance and headed up the stairs to Regina's office. Her secretary was sitting at her desk, stony-faced and disapproving as Emma gestured towards the door. "Go in," the woman said with a sniff. "She's been waiting."

Regina was sitting on the couch in her office, coffee mug in her hand as she read through an impossibly thick-looking report. She barely even glanced up as Emma let herself into the room and closed the door behind her. "Take a seat, Emma," she said over the rim of her mug. Emma perched gingerly on the edge of a stiff-backed chair set across from the couch and watched as Regina pulled a highlighter out of the pile of papers in her lip and highlighted a line. She set the highlighter back down with a practiced ease and unearthed a pen, making a note next to the place she'd highlighted.

"Sorry to run a little late, Mary Margaret didn't want me to leave," Emma explained as Regina set a sticky note to the side of the page she was reading and closed the report. She pushed the entire pile of papers, report on top, into a neat stack and set them to her side.

"I imagine that Ms. Blanchard would feel rather protective, after such an incident," Regina mused, sipping her coffee. Her expression was unreadable, but Emma didn't see any deceit in it. "I do not normally tolerate tardiness, but I didn't give you a time to be here, so it is to be expected that your arrival time would not be when I expected you to arrive."

Emma raised a hand to scratch at the back of her head. Such circuitous language was enough to make her head feel like it had yesterday. "I won't have this conversation with you if you're gonna talk in riddles," she said shortly. She didn't want to sound testy, because she knew how quick Regina was to anger. She couldn't follow talking in circles today, her head was still recovering - it hurt too much to use that much of her brain.

Regina set her mug down and bridged her fingers across her lap, eyes rising to meet Emma's across the low coffee table between them. "Then let us be frank with each other, Ms. Swan." Upon Emma's stiff and somewhat jerky nod, Regina continued. "I cannot have you tell anyone about what actually happened in the woods yesterday."

Her head tilted forward and Emma squared her feet on the ground, hands pressed together and she leaned forward. Her elbows dug into her knees as she looked up at Regina through her bangs. The whole situation was unbelievable that Emma wasn't really sure who she'd go about telling. Henry would believe her in a heartbeat, but Emma did not want to tell him. To tell him would be to ruin his relationship with Regina forever. The kid believed too fully to ever understand. "I pulled a sword out of your chest and killed a giant wolf-thing with it, who's going to believe that?"

"Henry, for one," Regina said curtly. She sat back on the couch and stared at Emma's pensive expression – her own was entirely unreadable. "What happened was a mistake – one born of necessity."

Emma inclined her head to her left. "How do you mean?"

Regina picked up her coffee mug and blew on it gently. Emma's mind flashed back to the dream she'd had the previous night, those impossibly red and tempting lips tempting her even then. "I needed a knight, you happened to be there."

Realization dawned on Emma so quickly that she felt her mind grow almost numb with the weight of it crashing down around her. She sat up, back suddenly ramrod straight, and stared at Regina. The woman's eyes were narrowed and her lips were quirking up wards into an expression of unbelievable smugness.

Something felt sour in Emma's stomach as she struggled to get the words that would confirm that Henry was either a savant, or more observant than a ten year old should ever be. "Then everything that Henry's said… it's true?"

Regina glanced down at her nails and shrugged. "To the extent that Henry is capable of understanding it, yes, it is." She was so nonchalant about the whole thing, sitting there with her coffee cup and her raised eyebrow, as if daring Emma to actually give in to her inclination to freak the fuck out. She was tempted to, because seriously what the fuck? This whole situation was so damn messed up that she could barely wrap hear head around it on a good day – and now here she was with probably a bad case of post-concussion syndrome on top of it.

Her hands struggled to find purchase, eventually dripping down to grab her knees as Emma rocked backwards in her chair. The front two legs of it lifted off the ground once, before falling back down to the floor with a thud. "That would make you…" Emma stared at Regina. "You're a _queen._" She looked away and added in an undertone. "An evil queen."

There was that smug, shit-eating grin again. "And you are now my knight," Regina almost purred out the words as she rose from her place on the couch, smoothing her dress downwards as she did so. Her heels clicked on the floor as she moved to stand directly behind Emma. Her hands came down to rest on Emma's shoulders and Emma almost winced as Regina bent low to whisper in her ear. "I take the hearts of my knights as an oath of loyalty, Ms. Swan. Feel lucky there is no magic in this world."

Emma bit her lip and stared resolutely at Regina's coffee cup on the table. She wasn't going to rise to the bait that was being dangled before her, despite that being Regina's very obvious wish. Emma struggled to ignore the hot breath on her cheek. "Henry thinks I'm the white knight in his story," the words tumbled out of her mouth before she had time to think about them, time to examine how they might affect her next move. She had to counter Regina as best she could, and this was her ace in the hole, so to speak. She was telling all of her secrets – but then, Emma supposed that Regina was doing that as well.

The secret was so damn unbelievable that Emma wasn't sure that she could actually take it seriously. Had she not fought off a – "What was that thing, from yesterday?" she asked suddenly, turning to look up at Regina as the woman had moved away from her into middle of her office. Her arms were wrapped around herself and Emma frowned.

"It was a dire wolf – a demon created to seek out those who steal hearts," Regina sounded preoccupied, distracted by something else as she stared at Emma. "I had thought it dead…"

"Apparently not, if Gold had it in a bottle," Emma added, getting to her feet. She moved to stand in front of Regina, resting a hand on her upper arm. "Look, knight or no, that was a legitimate attempt on your life, Madame Mayor."

It didn't appear that Regina was listening. She didn't shy away from Emma's touch and almost swayed under it. Emma took half a step forward, her hands touching Regina on both sides now, steadying the woman on her feet. "You're the white knight," Regina repeated what she'd said earlier with a distant look on her face. She met Emma's curious gaze and smiled again, this one as predatory and closed-off as ever. "Oh that is just _wonderful,_ Ms. Swan."

"How so?" Emma asked.

Regina shrugged, eyes sparking dangerously as she stepped away from Emma's hands. "It appears that you have been mine for far longer than I had initially thought."

_And what, exactly,_ Emma thought darkly as she folded her arms across her chest. _Is that supposed to mean?_

Regina bent to pick up her briefcase and had her mouth open to say something when the door burst open and Henry came running in – cheeks rosy from the autumn day outside. "Mom!" he said excitedly as he hurried over to her. It wasn't until he was half-way across the room that he noticed Emma. "Emma!" he changed direction mid step and nearly face-planted himself into Emma's stomach as he hugged her. "I'm glad you're okay."

Emma glanced at Regina and saw the pained expression on the other woman's face. She let her hand drop down to rest on the top of Henry's head protectively as she turned him in his mother's direction. "Me too kid," she said quickly – trying to preemptively get around the murderous look that was now settling over Regina's features. "Go see your mom, though. I was just leaving."

Henry shot Emma a betrayed look but went over and gave his mom a hug grudgingly. He pulled out an envelope from his backpack after lingering just long enough to appear appropriate in Regina's embrace. "Ms. Blanchard sent us home with permission slips. There's an orchard up the road from Mr. McCloud's farm, we're going to go as a class and pick apples! Can you sign it?"

The permission slip was printed on the cheap muted green paper that schools tended to favor. Regina scanned it quickly with a disinterested look on her face as Emma moved towards the door. She didn't want to linger and get caught between mother and son. They were already stuck in a battle of wills.

She couldn't draw Henry any further away from his mother than he had already taken himself. She refused to play a part in that game.

The urge to run cut deep into Emma's gut, just thinking about the demon - _dire wolf_ - that she had killed. Monsters like that did not belong in this world, and for one to have been contained in a jar - one that Regina thought dead meant that more was coming. Emma knew that she had to get while the getting was good. She wanted absolutely nothing to do with this.

Belief made things true - that was the point of everything Emma had ever learned from Disney, from fairy tales.

Wrapped up in her thoughts, Emma reached for the door handle. Her fingers closed around warm metal and Emma dared venture one last fleeting glance over her shoulder.

Regina had signed Henry's permission slip and was folding it neatly and tucking it into an envelope. Henry was watching them both with curious and wary eyes. "Ms. Swan," Regina said, folding the envelope closed and handing it to Henry. "Would you-"

Henry turned alarmed eyes towards his mother, his mouth dropping open in a very poorly hidden expression of disbelief.

Apparently Henry's shock had not gone unnoticed as Regina turned to him and raised an eyebrow. "Close your mouth," she said shortly. "You're not a codfish."

Emma covered her mouth with her hand as she attempted to bite back a snort of laughter. "Would I what?" she asked, giving a little cough to cover up the grin that she couldn't quite get off her face. Henry had just gotten completely owned by his mother - with a _Mary Poppins_ quote to boot! She realized it was the gravity of the conversation that she and Regina had had before Henry had arrived that was driving her to find this so funny and she struggled to keep her face straight.

Regina picked up her briefcase and crossed to the couch. She scooped the papers that she'd been looking at before Emma had come in to see her and tucked them into the black case. "Would you like to get dinner with us?" She gave Emma an appraising look, as if she was trying to figure out if such an offer was even a reasonable thing to make.

"Sure," Emma said with a shrug, she hadn't made plans with Mary Margaret. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and scrolled until she found Mary Margaret's number. She typed out a text with deliberate precision as Regina moved the office and gathered the work she was bringing home.

_I think Regina feels guilty_, she typed to Mary Margaret. _She's offered me dinner as a peace offering and you know how I am about free food._ The thought of the times when she'd been hungry, cold and alone still stood out in her mind. They were formative moments, ones that she could never truly forget.

Emma was still just barely getting to know Mary Margaret. Emma found the school teacher easy to talk to. In some of the evenings when Mary Margaret was correcting spelling tests, Emma had shared some sparse details about her life up until the point she'd arrived in Storybrooke.

_Be home before midnight,_ came Mary Margaret's reply as Emma watched Regina pull on her jacket and bend to make sure that Henry's coat was properly buttoned. _I can't wait up for you on a school night._

Emma was half-way through texting, 'what are you, my mother' when the pieces finally fell together and she deleted the text. She simply replied, _I'll try_. Henry had told her that she wasn't ready to hear his theories about her parentage and its connection to the curse. Not long after she'd come to Storybrooke, he'd presented her with pages that he'd torn from the back of his storybook – pages with details that shook Emma to the core now, recalling them.

She hadn't been ready, and she didn't think she ever would be.

"Henry," Regina said, handing him the keys to her car. "You're leading the way today."

Henry took the keys with nod and gave Emma a concerned look before scampering off down the hallway towards the stairs and the door outside.

"Mary Margaret is my mother," Emma said dumbly. She turned to look at Regina. "Isn't she?"

Regina adjusted her briefcase on her shoulder and walked towards door. "I did say that she'd be unnecessarily fussy over you, didn't I?"

"I can't do this," Emma said, shoving her hands into her pockets so as to not punch something. She couldn't do this' she couldn't actually have parents - not after all these years. It was too cruel a fate.

If Henry was right about the curse, and all signs on that front were pointing to yes, then she really did have parents. Parents that sent her away to fend for herself for twenty eight goddamn years. If Henry's book's missing pages were to be believed, it was for her own good – but what parent banishes their child to nothingness like that? Even for good reason, Emma could never have made such a choice.

"Unfortunately, Ms. Swan," Regina said, pulling the door shut behind them both. "It is the grim reality of this situation." She glanced over her shoulder and added, "You did read the book, right?"

Shaking her head to the negative, Emma forced her feet to move forward once again. "No," she said quietly. She had never put much stock in fairy tales because happy endings were entirely too unrealistic for a kid who was raised on a healthy diet of harsh reality. "I never believed in fairy tales."

_Before now._

db

Granny's diner was fairly empty for a weeknight, but it was still fairly early in the evening. The clock over the library had just clicked past six fifteen when they'd pulled up to a spot mercifully a little walking distance away from the diner's entrance. Emma allowed herself to be led by Henry to a booth on the far side of the restaurant as Regina paused to speak to someone that Emma didn't recognize outside the diner.

"Just you two today?" Ruby asked, trotting over with a water pitcher. Emma thought she looked remarkably perky considering she'd probably been working all day. "Hi Henry."

"Hi Ruby," he said with a smile, sliding into the booth.

Emma shook her head and jerked her head towards the window. Ruby followed her gaze with narrowed eyes, before her eyebrows climbed up her forehead so quickly that Emma wondered if she was legitimately shocked.

"Should I be preparing for the end of days?" Ruby asked, turning to get a third glass from behind the counter.

Emma knew her laugh was more than a little nervous as she sat down next to Henry. "Budge up, kid," she said as he scooted over to make room for her.

"I'm being totally serious here, Emma," Ruby said, returning with the third glass. She filled them with practiced precision and eyed Regina through the window. "Should I be worried?"

It was Henry who answered for her. "Emma is gathering intel," he explained matter-of-factly. He leaned forward and whispered to Ruby, "On my mom."

Ruby glanced at Emma, who was practically begging Ruby to just go with it with her eyes. Ruby gave the tiniest of smiles before announcing, "Your funeral, she muttered, before disappearing into the kitchen.

"Henry," Emma said quickly, turning to him to tell him to just _cool it_ with the Evil Queen shit for the time being. She was having a hard enough time processing everything without him antagonizing his mother on top of it. "You need to _not_ do that."

"Why?" Henry asked, expression curious. "My mom's the evil queen, the only reason you've been spending time with her is because of Operation Cobra, right?"

_Oh kid, if only you knew._

"In your book," Emma asked quietly. She knew it was probably not smart to change the subject just yet, but she had to try. Henry needed to be thinking about something other than his mother being the Evil Queen for the time being, if they were to make it through this dinner without any fireworks. "Is there anything about dire wolves?"

Henry nodded enthusiastically. "Yup. Rumplestiltskin gives one to people who are allied with Snow White because the Queen steals hearts - it doesn't help them though. The Queen killed it and trapped it in ash."

Her eyes narrowed, the beast had come from ash. She didn't want to say anything to Henry yet, but she had a sinking suspicion she knew exactly who Mr. Gold really was and the thought terrified her. She had read that story, at least. It had been a favorite of one of her foster brother's – the story of the evil imp who tricked everyone out of everything they held dear. "Could I borrow your book - just for the night?"

"It's at home." Henry scowled. "I hid it so my mom wouldn't take it away."

"Smart kid," Emma said, ruffling his hair.

The bell jingled at the door and Regina stepped in, striding purposefully across the room as though she owned the place. Ruby poked her head out of the kitchen and called in a deceptively cheerful voice, "Will be right with you, Madame Mayor!"

The dinner, as it turned out, was rather unremarkable. Emma told Henry a few vague details about the 'dog' attack and she learned far more about youth soccer and what exactly kids in fifth grade were into these days. Regina was mostly quiet, her expression one that Emma read to be pensive, but it could have been any number of things, hidden behind a near perfect neutral expression. Emma knew Regina was watching her as she ate her club sandwich, the constant pressure of eyes on her made her nervous. She tried her best to ignore it, showing Henry how she liked to mix ketchup and mustard together to go on her fries.

"He's been doing that for years," Regina commented later, as they walked out together. Emma had tried to pay for her sandwich but had her crumpled ten dollar bill waved off by Regina. She would not take it no matter how much Emma insisted.

Emma exhaled, watching as her breath fogged before her eyes. "Really?" She grinned. "Thought it was just a me thing, you know – like cinnamon in my cocoa."

Regina's back stiffened and she shook her head slowly once, shoulders drawn into a tight line. Henry was sitting in the car already, his breath creating interesting patters on the car window as he watched them with curious eyes. "I think you'll find, Ms. Swan, that you're not as unique as you think, here in Storybrooke."

"Why is that?" Emma asked, arms half-folded around herself as she watched a car drive by. "Is it because of Henry's curse?"

"We will not discuss this here," Regina said shortly. She reached down, hand pulling at Emma's elbow. Her eyes were almost pleading as she gently pulled Emma in the direction of the car. "Come with me?"

Emma wanted to say no. She wanted to turn on her heel and walk back to Mary Margaret's apartment and forget that today ever happened. Everything was so overwhelming and her head was killing her. Going with Regina meant more time with Henry, and Emma didn't think that she could handle that right now. Her mind was on edge as it was, and Henry's constant babble was making her antsier than ever.

The pull wasn't there though. The need to run, to leave right as things got hard. It was like her dream – maybe she'd found a place worth staying. She was settling here, she knew it. Maybe Regina did need her to come along, just for a little while longer.

"I won't stay long," Emma said shortly, falling into step beside Regina.

Regina looked at her sideways, "I wasn't asking you to."

Henry got her the book as soon as they'd arrived at the Mayor's house. Emma set it to the side, figuring that its presence would only serve to further annoy Regina – and Emma was starting to get the sense that the woman was on thin ice as it was. Emma had seen the way that her body language had changed from open and almost welcoming of Emma's presence over dinner to one that made her feel almost as though she had overstayed her welcome. She knew that she'd been invited, but as Regina sent Emma into her study as she got Henry up in his room and going on his homework, Emma felt unwanted.

"He'll be busy for a few minutes," Regina said a few minutes later, pulling the thick door closed behind her and turning the lock once again. "I need you to promise me that you will not tell him, not yet."

Emma ran a hand through her hair, the leather of her jacket creaking as she raised her arm. "I can't lie to him," she said quietly. She said it because Henry was like her; he was good at reading people – even better at pulling the truth out of people. It was damn hard to convincingly lie to him as it was. To lie about something so _huge_ was mind-boggling.

The Mayor's eyes were hard. She took a step forward, into Emma's personal space and lingered there, far too close for comfort. Emma swallowed as Regina's eyes swept up and down her. "You're a bit scrawny, for one of my knights." She said eventually.

"You don't own me," Emma retorted, taking half a step backwards. "This whole thing is a goddamn lie."

"There is truth in all lies, Ms. Swan," Regina's lips curled, a sneer gracing her features. Emma breath caught and she felt the urge, the need to obey – to protect – to be the knight Henry though her to be. She swallowed as Regina leaned in close, eyes narrowed dangerously. "You will see, you are mine."

"I am not your pet," Emma ground out, jaw clenching as Regina's fingers curled touching her cheeks, her jaw. "I will protect you, Henry, this town. Do not expect to own me, majesty."

"Oh dear, you're going to find that I already do."

db

_A lesson in loyalty and futility._

The demon that was sent to kill the queen failed because a simple knight of indeterminate origins gave his life to protect his queen. His sacrifice allowed the queen the time she needed to cast the spell that would trap the creature in stasis forever. She turned the man's body into a jar, an ornate one that she'd fashioned out of her own imagination and honored her fallen champion as best she could. The man had had no family when he'd come to her offering loyalty, and she'd taken his sacrifice to heart.

You see, the queen felt the pain of what this man had done for her far more acutely than her normal heartless demeanor would allow. He had been given her favor for the briefest of moments and the pain that she felt upon his death was entirely of her own creation. Her own heart had been removed so long ago that her mind scarcely remembered what pain felt like, but his loss cut her deeply.

In that moment, the queen vowed never to bestow favor on one so weak again. Her favor would be reserved for her champion, a being as of yet unknown to her. She would bide her time until then, and when she commanded such a being – she would strike fear into the hearts of all the land.

After all, Snow had her champion, why shouldn't she?

_Somehow, this seems like a set up._

_Wouldn't you like to know._

* * *

First of all, THANK YOU EVERYONE! You guys have been absolutely amazing with your reviews and your follows and everything else that you've been up to! It's been utterly amazing to read some of the comments that you guys have left on this story. I'm so glad that you all like the direction that I'm taking this.

This chapter was more a developing chapter - I'm trying to move slowly towards a Swan Queen endgame, but I don't want to jump into it too quickly. And to anyone who's thinking that Regina seems a little bit hot-and-cold in this chapter, please stick with it. The POV makes writing Regina's character really hard to do at times, because I so desperately want to delve into what she's thinking but I _can't_ because it would ruin the story for the rest of you. Suffice to say that the plot is moving along nicely now - I anticipate that this may be ten parts all together, maybe twelve. It's been two weeks and I'm at 32k words. One of these days I'll actually do a NaNoWriMo in November like I'm supposed to. :D

Again, thank you guys so much for reviewing. Feel free to ask me questions - I try my absolute best to answer them via PM or in notes here, if you review anon.

Next: The Imp and the Game


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six - The Imp and The Game**

****The witch who was once the queen folded her arms across her chest and stared impassively down at the traveler as she bent to hurriedly gather up the brushes she'd dropped. "Does this surprise you, dear?" the witch asked.

The traveler knew all about the witch who had once been the queen - who had once been her mother's stepmother. The story had come from her nursemaid's lips before the traveler had graced her first summer. Her mother never spoke of the woman, and she seemed almost wounded when the traveler had mentioned that her tutors were teaching her about it in her daily lessons.

"Do not believe all that they tell you," Her mother had said in the few fleeting moments she had been able to spare for her daughter. "Things were done that are unforgivable on both sides of that conflict." The traveler had not questioned her mother further, for no more explanation was given.

A curry comb in her hands, the traveler risked a look up through her hair at the witch. "I was told that I was not to believe all that I heard of you," she explained quietly. "Your story was told to me as a child, and my tutors told you of your life. I had thought you dead."

"It appears you were told wrong," The witch mused, her fingers placating on the traveler's horse's neck. It sniffed loudly, before lowering its head to mouth her cloak. "For I assure you that I am very much alive."

The traveler got to her feet and met the witch's eyes evenly. "I wish you no quarrel-"

"I know who you are," the witch responded curtly. "My offer of hospitality remains, but be warned, daughter of my closest enemy." The witch moved forward in a puff of smoke, her hand closing around the traveler's neck before the traveler could even react. Her hands clawed at the witch's, trying to gain purchase and force the woman off of her. Her breath came shallow as the witch leaned in close, her breath warm and tickling at the wisps of straw-colored hair that had fallen out of the plait down the traveler's back. "If you move to attack the peace I have found here in these woods," she hissed, her voice was low and dangerous, "I will end your life."

She could not fight it, the threat was far too real. The traveler realized in that moment that the witch was the forest mistress, for the very air around them seemed to be poised to strike the traveler, should her hand fall to her sword or the knife in her boot. The stories had been true and the traveler felt the fear settle in at the pit of her stomach. It covered the pull that kept her moving like snow, drowning the need to constantly move with the need to face up to the fear she felt.

Swallowing, the traveler held up her hands in surrender. "I am merely a traveler here." Her voice was steady as she explained, and she was grateful that she had been able control it. Her voice was known to shake with nervousness - a habit her swords master had never been able to train out of her. Her father detested her hesitance. He said it made her a cynic and a non-believer. He always stressed that belief was everything in this world.

She gasped as the witch loosened her grip, allowing precious air to pass through her lips once more. The traveler's eyes flashed just once, expression softening as she spoke. "I would no sooner spit on my grandfather's grave than return your hospitality in such a way."

It was a barb in and of itself. The witch knew it too. The traveler watched as the witch's face fell. Regret was a powerful emotion, one that the traveler knew well. The witch stepped back, allowing the traveler room to fall back, sagging against the stable wall. "Your grandfather was a good man, my hand was forced."

The traveler had never once questioned that fact. The witch had not been the one who had killed the man, after all. It had been a man from a distant land, a d'jin gone rogue. That was what her tutors had said, after all.

They brushed the horse down in silence and the traveler pulled the tattered old blanket she used for the horse at night from her saddle bags and draped it over its back. She secured it with practiced ease and turned to the witch. "Truly, I do not wish to harm you."

"Then come," the witch replied. "I will see if my son has finished preparing for the evening meal."

The witch held out her hand, flexing her fingers as flame erupted from their tips. The stable was bathed in the warm glow of the spell and the traveler stepped forward to join the witch. "I have no skill with magic," she commented quietly as they moved back towards the house.

Sniffing disdainfully, the witch shook her head. "You would be surprised, dear."

Graham's hand on her shoulder jerked Emma awake. She started, hands flying every which way as she tried to ground herself. Her throat felt sore as she reached up to touch it, memories of the witch's hand there just moments ago still at the forefront of her mind. "Jesus," she rasped out. "You scared me."

He smiled down at her, his hair frizzing up a halo in the dim light of the station. "You fell asleep," he explained, gesturing to the clock that read well past the end of Emma's shift. "As you were off the clock, I didn't have the heart to wake you."

She blinked sleepily up at him, debating on how he would react if she called him a big softie. The words were on her lips when her phone buzzed on the desk in front of her.

_Did somebody die?_ Mary Margaret had sent her. _I have spelling tests that need correcting! I need my evening entertainment._ _Also I cooked._

Emma smiled fondly at the text and responded that she was on her way home. "Thanks for waking me up," she said as Graham set down his coffee cup and pulled the stack of reports that she'd been drooling on out from underneath Emma's discarded jacket.

He smiled at her, eyes crinkling at the corners as Emma stood up and stretched. Her head was feeling a lot better than it had over the past few days, even if the weight of everything that the Mayor had told her pressed heavily upon her shoulders. Bumps and bruises would fade, but the fact that everyone in this town was cursed by a woman who now commanded Emma's loyalty would remain.

Loyalty... It frankly scared Emma how easily she had given in, and Regina had not elaborated as to why she had. Emma reasoned that there had to be something larger at work here. She had yet to read through Henry's book, it sat on the table beside her bed. Every night, Emma would make a move to pick up the tome and finally flip through it, but every day something stopped her.

The dreams continued, greater in their intensity than ever before. Emma was now convinced that they were a narrative of something - she'd yet to figure out what. Another life, she figured that they could be a might-have-been. They were frankly starting to scare her, for they struck far too close to home.

"See you tomorrow," Graham said, flipping open the first folder and settling down at his desk. He seemed distracted and a little bit out of it, flushing pink at the tips of his ears as Emma waved goodbye and headed towards the door.

Everything was so messed up, muddled together in her brain. If Regina was right, and Emma wasn't ruling out the possibility that she'd hit her head _a lot_ harder than Doctor Whale had thought initially, then everyone in this town was really someone else. Everyone's personalities were going to change, should this curse ever come to break.

Fuck, all of that shit was true too. The whole thing made Emma's head hurt as she desperately grasped for straws. Her mind was trying to reconcile the past and the present.

Emma walked back towards home with a heavy heart. She'd been taking to avoiding being at home if she could at all avoid it. Mary Margaret was still trying to figure things out with David Nolan, and Emma was still trying to figure out how exactly she was supposed to explain to Mary Margaret that their relationship wasn't exactly that of friends. It confused her, looking at Mary Margaret and knowing that once, once upon a time, that woman might have been her mother.

She was inclined to just simply not believe. She had drawn a sword from the Mayor's chest and killed a dire wolf. There was no talking around that. The sword had been real in her hands, the leather wrapped around its handle had been stained by sweat and blood.

"Your father's sword," Regina had explained when Emma had asked where it had come from.

"Oh right," Emma had rolled her eyes, "Prince Charming."

Regina had seemed pensive for a moment then, before she touched Emma's shoulder. "His name is James."

Regina had been so reluctant to explain some things that information that she gave freely always made Emma a bit nervous. She knew better than to accept it wholesale, it would not be freely given if it was the god's honest truth. Regina was a snake; she played the game so well that was constantly on edge around her.

There were other problems, problems that Emma tried so desperately to ignore. She'd tried to ask Henry what being given the Queen's favor meant in the context of his book. She didn't like the implication, didn't like the way the Mayor lorded the fact that she'd given it over Emma like it was something to be proud of.

The whole situation made Emma desperately uncomfortable and she shivered despite herself in the crisp, late-autumn air. She did not want to be owned by anyone. She'd been down that path more times than she could count, in more relationships than she cared to remember. She wasn't even sure that _that_ was where this was going, and she didn't like the implication of that very much either.

Her identity had always been her own, the one thing that she'd been able to hold close to her chest and recognize as truth. To have even that taken from her and twisted into something she could barely recognize first by Henry and then his mother was almost too much. It sent Emma wanting to run. If she ran far enough and fast enough she could escape safely into her doubts once more.

She knew she was settling however. Her knowledge of this place, despite what Regina had said to her about her seeming inability to stay on one place long enough to know it, was growing to something that felt warm and familiar. She wanted to stay in this tiny town and see what the future might hold here, even if that future was clouded by doubt.

Mary Margaret met Emma at the door with a bowl of soup that warmed her fingers as she took it gratefully. The nights were dipping down into the forties now, and Emma hadn't worn a particularly thick sweater under her jacket today. "You look cold," Mary Margaret said pensively as she crossed back to the table. "You need a better coat."

"I have one," Emma protested with a half-hearted grin. Her stuff had been packaged and would soon be shipped here. Emma had raided Mary Margaret's closet for some clean things, and a trip to the second hand shop had at least gotten her out of wearing the same three shirts every day for a week or two at most. "It's coming in the mail."

Mary Margaret pulled a piece of bread apart in her hands, crumbs falling onto the plate before her as she did so. She stared down at them for a long moment before sighing. "I think I might have messed up," she confessed.

Emma helped herself to some bread from the basket at the middle of the table and mentally prepared herself for what she was positive she was about to hear. Mary Margaret had not stopped seeing David Nolan, despite his lovely wife being very much still in the picture. "Oh?" She was trying to keep her tone non-judgmental, because she understood what it felt like to want someone even though they were the very poison that would destroy all that you had worked for.

In her few moments of clarity before Henry was born, Emma had realized that the relationship that she had had with his father had not been a good one. She'd wanted to make herself believe that maybe something could have been done. She'd traded so much in that one night, that one beautiful little boy of a mistake.

She'd only been seventeen.

A world of regret sat heavy on Emma's shoulders, and she could do little to remove it.

"I can't stop seeing him," Mary Margaret continued to shred her bread, not looking up or meeting Emma's curious gaze. "David, I mean."

"I figured," Emma ate a spoonful of soup and gave Mary Margaret a smile and potentially too-indulgent smile. She couldn't judge her, she couldn't because this was all part of Regina's stupid evil curse. "No judging here, but you do realize that this can only end badly for everyone involved, right?"

Mary Margaret set down her bread and picked up her spoon, knuckles white on the handle as she pushed the dregs of rice and carrots around at the bottom of her bowl. "I know," she lamented. Her tone suggested what Emma suspected about the situation from the beginning. This was killing Mary Margaret, two driving forces, to go both to and away from David. Henry would have a _field day_ with this, Freud too. "I know and I can't stop. I don't want to stop."

Emma inclined her head to the side, chewing on a kale leaf thoughtfully. Mary Margaret was in vent mode now, best ask before it got too late. "Are you in love with him?" It was the only question that was appropriate in such a moment.

Her mouth dropped open and eyes so startlingly similar to Emma's own rose up to meet Emma's. Mary Margaret opened and closed her mouth several times before finally letting her spoon fall, defeated, into her bowl. "Yes," she whispered. "And it's killing me."

It was easy to do the right thing in that instance. Emma didn't even think as she pushed back the chair at the kitchen table with a loud scrape against the floor and moved to hug this woman who had come to mean so much more to Emma than she'd ever felt possible. Her entire life was full of broken promises and failed friendships. For something so real and so genuine to come along completely out of the blue was completely out of character for Emma.

She wasn't sure how to react to the sudden closeness of their bond, but Emma knew all about hurting. She pulled Mary Margaret to her feet and let the woman who was once upon a time (maybe) her mother sob into her shoulder.

Memories of the dreams, of the faces they contained, swam before Emma's eyes as she let her fingers trail soothing patterns down Mary Margaret's back. She'd done this many times, with a woman who smelled just like this. Of soap and cinnamon with a hint of something indeterminate.

Maybe Regina hadn't been lying; maybe this was the fall out of the curse.

She had to read that book.

db

Graham liked working on the weekends, or so he said when Emma had called to make extra-triple sure that it was okay for her to not come in on Saturday in favor of Henry's soccer game. "I'm serious, Emma," he laughed. "Just come out for a drink some night to make up for it."

Emma had tried not to think what _that_ might mean as she bundled up in her slightly warmer jacket and a thick sweater. Her things had arrived the previous afternoon and she felt like she had finally settled. She dug around in one of the few boxes she had yet to unpack and unearthed a battered skull cap. It was colder than she'd anticipated outside and she didn't want to spend the entire game uncomfortable.

"You off?" Mary Margaret asked from where she'd settled with some sort of strange craft project across the kitchen table.

"Yeah," Emma grabbed her keys and nodded. "Hopefully I don't get killed by the Mayor for being there."

Giving a little shrug that made her look somehow older than she was, Mary Margaret turned back to her ... craft thing. Emma wrinkled her nose and peered over Mary Margaret's shoulder at the mess of magazines, glue and tissue paper. "What are you doing?"

"Collage," Mary Margaret said firmly, her cheeks growing pink with embarrassment.

"Ohhhkay."

The look Mary Margaret gave Emma could only be described as indignant as Emma backed away slowly towards the door. "Go, go watch Henry play soccer and leave me and my creativity alone."

"Yeah, yeah," Emma said with a cheeky grin. "See you tonight?"

When her question was greeted with a disinterested wave, Emma rolled her eyes and headed down the stairs two at a time.

The soccer field was clear on the other side of town, but traffic was light in Storybrooke for a Saturday. It was getting late in the harvest season, and the weekly farmer's market had gone on a temporary hiatus until closer to Thanksgiving. Emma wished that she'd been able to take Henry to it just once, to wander around through the stalls - drinking cider and eating maple candy so fresh that it made Emma's teeth hurt.

Henry's team wore red jerseys and a mismatched hodgepodge of soccer shorts that were indicative of youth league soccer. She had missed out on organized sports as a child, and she was grateful that Henry would have an option to play such games if he wanted to. Emma parked a few spaces down from the Mayor's car and headed up the low rise of a hill to the soccer field.

A wave of jealousy hit Emma hard then, thinking of her own youth. She had never had a chance to do things like this, instead playing lengthy games of kickball against the other neighborhood kids before she would inevitably get shipped off to the next home in the next city.

"Ms. Swan," the Mayor's voice came from somewhere off to her left and Emma turned, eyes blinking away the last visages of the green eyed monster. The Mayor was perched on the topmost of the low set of bleachers that served as a spot for spectators, a mug cradled between her two bare hands. She was wearing her usual long black overcoat with a thick grey sweater underneath it and looked far warmer than Emma felt. "What are you doing here?"

Emma turned and headed up the bleachers to sit down a healthy distance from Regina, but to still be within earshot. "Henry asked me to come - before..." she trailed off with a pointed look at the Mayor, who sipped whatever was steaming in her mug with a pensive look on her face. "I can leave if you'd like, just let him see me before I go."

The look that Regina gave her then was not what Emma had expected. The woman looked alarmed that Emma would even suggest it, but soon the expressionless (if slightly disdainful) look of the Mayor that Emma had come to expect fell into place once again. "Do what you like, Ms. Swan. It's early enough that there's no one here to see us interacting without bloodshed."

A smirk played at Emma's lip as she turned, leaning on the cold metal railing that served as the back of the bleachers. "Who's to say that there isn't going to be bloodshed, Madame Mayor?"

Regina raised an eyebrow, "If you are implying-"

Emma waved her hand, laughing. "Just kidding."

"I don't think I like your form of kidding, dear," Regina said testily as Emma stood and moved to sit closer to Regina.

Henry was playing very well, hanging back as Emma assumed he was playing defense. His cheeks were bright red in the cool air and he looked like he was having the time of his life. Emma found this version of the game a good deal easier to follow than the few professional matches she had caught while tracking down people south of the border. She clapped and cheered along with the rest of the parents that had gathered to watch, elbows resting on her knees, her feet propped up against the bench in front of her.

"Are we ever going to talk about how Mr. Gold used _our_ son to give you an object that posed a threat to your life?" Emma asked during a lull in play.

Regina gave her a sharp look before glancing around. "This is _very much_ not the appropriate time to discuss such matters," she said in an undertone.

There really wasn't anyone around them, and Emma gestured to the small cluster of people towards the other end of the bleachers and the younger brother of one of the players using the railing at the bottom of the bleachers as a jungle gym. "Why not?" she demanded, her lip jutting out stubbornly. "If I'm supposed to protect you, why am I not going after him?"

Regina set a placating hand on Emma's forearm. "You do not want him as your enemy." Her tone was quietly, but her eyes were full of worry. It was unnerving to see a woman usually so unflappable look so worried.

"He used Henry," Emma retorted. "I don't know about you, but I won't stand for anyone using Henry in this fight." She looked towards the field, where Henry was battling with an attacker for the ball. "Lord knows he's the only person in this damn town who actually believes."

"Do you not, Ms. Swan?"

Shrugging, Emma turned her attention back to the game. "You cast this curse," she explained, never once looking at Regina. "I don't know if I _want_ to believe you capable of such a thing."

"Oh, my dear sweet knight, you have no idea what I am and am not capable of doing," Regina said sadly.

Emma turned to squint at her in the bright sunlight, just now peeking out from behind the thick cover of clouds that had filled the sky all morning. "You keep saying that, majesty, yet you never follow through in showing me what it is that you are capable of doing."

The mayor who was once the queen opened and closed her mouth several times as Emma fixed her with a pointed look. Eventually she looked down at the mug in her hands. "There is no magic in this world," she explained. "There is very little I can do to show you other than what I already have."

"Then color me a non-believer," Emma said, turning her attention back to the game. "You certainly didn't do this alone."

Regina didn't say anything for a long time after that, rising to her feet to clap with the rest of the parents as the game ended in a tie. Emma shoved her hands into her pockets as they both picked their way down the bleachers. "It was his," Regina said vaguely, waving at some of the other parents gathered further down the bleachers. "I just made it work - he was the one who created it."

_Well,_ Emma thought darkly. _That certainly changes things._

db

During the week that followed Regina's surprising confession regarding the curse (that Emma still was very reluctant to believe in) Emma had done a good deal of thinking. Henry's book still sat on her bedside table and Emma was pretty sure that her avoidance of it was actually part of the curse at this point.

What did it mean to have the queen's favor? The question had been buzzing around in Emma's head for nearly a week and she still had no idea what the hell the statement meant. The Mayor - the _Queen_ - had implied heavily that it meant some sort of overt command over Emma's person.

Emma didn't think it mean that. Regina had sway over her, she'd felt it coming in ebbs and flows over the past few days. There was a compulsion to follow and protect, but never to obey. She had to be her own person, to own the queen's favor, it seemed.

"You trying to get me to approve overtime?" Graham asked as Emma moodily flipped through her notepad as she paged through print-outs of the _Mirror_ that she'd accessed through the town archive department.

This little stack of papers and her notes were the fruits of three days of her best investigative skills. She was trying to figure what the deal was with Mr. Gold. She had her own reasons for looking into him, she kept telling herself that, but she could scarcely sleep at night remembering the terrified look in Regina's eyes as the dire wolf had appeared. She knew that she had to prevent _that_ from ever happening again, if it was the last thing she did.

Emma shook her head. "Sorry," she apologized. She didn't want to put him in the sort of position where he'd have to explain to anyone (the Mayor) why she was working overtime in a town where the most heinous crime that took place was public intoxication. "I was just looking through some of the articles that the _Mirror_ had on file about Mr. Gold?"

Graham raised his head and blinked curiously at her from the distance between their two desks. "Gold?" he asked, "What are you looking into him for?"

The actual reason was too fantastic for Graham to believe, and she doubted that he ever would take her seriously again if she voiced her true concerns. Emma heaved a quiet sigh and stood, scooping her papers up and moving to plop them down in front of Graham. "He was the one who helped the Mayor adopt Henry."

The sheriff's fingers trailed down Emma's carefully written notes, lingering over odd spellings and cross-outs. He seemed to take the information in slowly, like a dog acquainting itself with a scent. "And this is your reason for investigating the man?" Graham asked eventually. His tone was even, but there was a hint of something hidden just below the surface that made Emma wonder just what he knew about the man.

Emma ran a hand tiredly through her hair and threw caution into the wind. "Before the whole incident with that dog, I saw Henry. He was coming out of Gold's shop with something for his mother."

"Ah, the bag he left in the cruiser," Graham looked up at her with pink ears again and Emma winced. She was not leading him on. She very purposefully stepped back to remove herself from the closer-than-strictly-professional position she had been in.

"Yeah," she said. "I was concerned about how he was willing and able to entice Henry into his shop without a second thought on Henry's part. His mother and Mr. Gold barely tolerate each other, I just want to make sure he's okay."

Graham seemed to contemplate this for a moment before he shifted in his see to turn and gesture at her to come closer. "Emma you need to listen to me," he said. He voice was barely above a whisper and he reached forward, grabbing her forearm and pulling her in closer. His fingers pressed down harshly into Emma's skin. "Stay out of this." He glanced around before leaning in closer to hiss, "The Mayor has her way of doing things, has for as long as anyone can remember. Your coming here has thrown everything out of sync. Mr. Gold is the mayor's problem, not ours."

"You're hurting me," Emma retorted, wrenching her arm back from him and meeting his stare evenly. She rubbed her arm and scowled at him.

He was staring at her, eyes dark and intense in the half-light of his office. The lamp on his desk made his eyes almost seem to glow, and Emma swallowed. Graham looked almost wild in this light.

Inhaling deeply, Graham flexed his fingers and looked up at Emma in wonderment. "Why is it that when I touch you I feel alive?"

Emma took a step backwards. She had been in this situation many times before, and it never ended well. "I don't know," she said. She was struggling to keep her voice from shaking.

"I touch everyone else and I feel dead," Graham muttered, holding his hands spread wide in front of his face. "I touch Regina and I feel _nothing._"

_Oh,_ Emma's mouth dropped open in surprise. _They were sleeping together. Ohhhhhhh._

She shifted her weight, stepping forward and closing her hands over Graham's. "There's nothing wrong with that," she promised. She was babbling a bit, but as he looked up at her with wide eyes, she knew that she had to say something. "Sometimes you do something for so long that it loses its fun."

Graham's eyes were wide as he stared at her. He seemed to debate something for a moment before he pushed himself up to press his lips suddenly against Emma's.

The angle was all wrong and his beard tickled at her chin and Emma damn near slapped him as she pushed him back down into his chair and stumbled away. "What the fuck!" she hissed, rubbing at her mouth with the back of her hand. "You can't just go around kissing people!"

He didn't seem to hear her, looking around the sheriff's office with wide and disbelieving eyes. Emma stayed back, away from him because surprise kisses are not her idea of a good time at all. She didn't like the way Graham was moving, his expression full of disbelief and shock. He looked at her and his face changed from distressed to terrified.

Emma watched him as he grabbed his jacket and headed towards the door, her entire body tense and ready to flee.

"The fuck was that," she muttered as the station door banged shut a moment later. Her hands were shaking and her lips burned. There was a power there that she did not know, and it was one that Emma resolutely refused to understand. Henry was always going on about the power that she possessed as the white knight – the savior of Storybrooke. Emma didn't feel much like anyone's savior as her fingers trembled as she pressed them to her lips.

Graham couldn't have known what his actions would do to her. No one knew about that part of her past – the dark part she kept locked away behind a wall of bad memories and half-forgotten events. She had been so young and so foolish back then.

She hated herself for those moments, and she hated how she went back to that dark place on a semi-regular basis. Her instincts were always to run when she found herself retreating back into the memories of what had started this whole thing in the first place. The memories of cold dark nights and a choice between freezing under a bridge and a warm bed full of unwelcome attention came to mind again and again. She remembered his rough hands and the ever so familiar feeling of being trapped. She'd been trapped her whole life, and now, when she was arguably under more constraints than ever, Emma was starting to feel free.

Forcing the memories from the forefront of her mind was always a challenge, but Emma did so dutifully. There were bigger things to worry about right now. She had seen the vacant look in the Sheriff's eyes after his lips had regrettably connected with her own. Emma frowned, digging in her pocket for her phone. She dialed the number out of habit, not really thinking about it before she did so. She needed to talk, to figure out what she should do now. Graham didn't look all that good, and Emma couldn't help but wonder why it was that his entire demeanor had changed after planting one on her.

"Emma?" Mary Margaret's voice sounded concerned, and Emma sagged against the wall of Graham's office. Her hands were still shaking and she was struggling to keep her breathing under control. "Is everything alright?"

"Hey," Emma breathed, her body relaxing just a little bit at the sound of her friend's voice. She exhaled once more to slow the rapid intake of air into her system and swallowed. "Not really." She paused pushing forward on her toes and heading out of Graham's office. "Graham… God, I don't know how to explain this in a way that doesn't make me sound crazy."

Mary Margaret made a soothing noise at the back of her throat, "Try the beginning."

Rolling her eyes, Emma bent and grabbed her keys from her desk drawer. "Graham and I were looking over some notes and he uh… grabbed my arm," Emma began. She was trying to keep the fact that she was looking into Gold out of it. She didn't know if Mary Margaret had had any dealings with him in the past, and she didn't want to put her into an awkward position. "He told me that he felt something when he touched me – and then he um…" She trailed off, an acidic taste welling up in the back of her mouth as she tried to force the worlds out. "He kissed me."

What Graham did with the Mayor was his business, she decided – even if they were both far too attractive people to be sleeping with each other. Where was the love for the rest of them?

"He what?" Mary Margaret spluttered.

"He kissed me. Completely unwanted, but definitely kissing," Emma clarified. "Look, I don't know what to do, all I want to do is find him – he ran off after he did it."

"Have you tried the woods?" Mary Margaret asked, her tone pensive. "He hikes a lot when he's not working."

"I hadn't, but thanks!" She sighed, running a hand through her hair. She wanted to stay on the phone with Mary Margaret, telling her about the emotions that were running hot and fast just under the venire of calm that she'd managed to pull out of seemingly nowhere. "Look," she said eventually. "I need to tell you about this – I need to talk it though, I just need to find Graham first. Something was really up with him."

Mary Margaret's tone seemed to be more understanding than Emma would expect of one getting the brush off. "That's okay, Emma," she said kindly. "Tell me about it when you come home?"

Emma nodded, despite the fact that this was a phone conversation. "I will," she promised. "I'll talk to you later."

They said their goodbyes and Emma pulled the station door shut and locked it behind her with a resolute expression on her face. She had no idea what to do or where to even start looking. The cruiser was still parked in front of the station and Emma headed towards it, glancing up and down the street. There were several county and state roads that cut through the woods that bordered Storybrooke to the north; Graham kept maps in the glove box.

Unlocking the door and shivering as a gust of wind hit her particularly hard through her thin jacket; Emma pulled the maps out and spread the first one out against the cruiser's hood. Her eyes lit up excitedly as she saw Graham's handwriting dotting the map. He'd marked out trails and access points in red marker all over the map. "Where would you go," she muttered, staring down at the map.

From somewhere behind her, Emma heard the tell-tale click of overly-priced heels on pavement and turned to glance over her shoulder. The Mayor was standing by her car, parked a few spots up from the cruiser in front of Mr. French's flower shop. She had a bouquet of lilies tucked under one arm and her hands plunged deep into her pockets. "Ms. Swan," The Mayor said evenly as Emma lifted one hand to give a half-hearted wave before quickly dropping her hand to hold the map in place.

"Hi," Emma said as the Mayor clicked her way closer and moved to peer at the map Emma was trailing a finger along. She was following Route Six along the outskirts of town, where Graham had marked a trailhead with a triangle in bright red marker. The trail cut across most of the woods with forks going off in every direction, leading deeper into the woods. This would be the best place to start, she reasoned, tapping her finger on it.

A glance sideways indicated that the Mayor was still staring curiously at the map with an expectant look on her face. Emma bit back a harsh remark, the urge to say it dying in her chest before she'd fully realized the remark. She hated it, hated the constant pressure at the back of her mind to be respectful, to not insult the queen. Her teeth sunk into the inside of her cheek and Emma asked as politely as she could, "Can I help you with something, Madame Mayor?"

"I understand that you're off the clock right now, Deputy. Might I ask what you are doing using city property as a workspace?" The mayor's lilies smelled intoxicating and Emma wrinkled her nose at the scent. It was making her head hurt to be around Regina, the smell of the stupid flowers were filling her head with a heady, not-quite-there feeling.

Shaking her head to clear it, Emma folded up the map and tucked it into the inside pocket of her jacket. "Graham ran off, I'm going to find him."

"Excuse me?" Regina's tone was incredulous. "Graham doesn't just _run off_." Her eyes narrowed and she took a step forward into Emma's personal space. "Not without being provoked."

The keys in her hand were digging into her palm, and Emma's hand was still shaking as she raised her gaze to meet the Mayor's own. She didn't like what Regina was implying, when it had been her person who had been violated by Graham's actions. "I didn't do anything," She hissed, her voice low and quiet. She wasn't much for airing other people's dirty laundry in the middle of a street; no matter how pushed she felt to tell _someone_ about what had happened. It certainly was not going to be Regina Mills. "_He_ told me that he didn't feel anything and then he ran off without a word."

The Mayor's lips pitched downwards into a frown and she shifted from foot to foot. Emma thought she looked really indecisive and conflicted. "He said he doesn't feel anything?" Regina asked, taking her flowers and putting them into the back seat of the cruiser.

Emma nodded. "Does that mean something to you?" She asked, pulling her hat down over her ears. She was desperate for something to do with her hands other than to stare the Mayor down. "He uh… might have implied that you guys were…"

"What I do in my personal life is _my_ business, Ms. Swan," Regina retorted. She pulled the passenger door open and swung herself into the cruiser. "Get in; I know where he's gone."

The drive was silent, Emma found herself concentrating on the road, following the directions that were given to her. As they idled at a red light, Emma turned to glance at Regina. The Mayor was stony-faced, her expression completely closed-off. "Hey," she said, trying to keep her voice friendly and neutral. "I don't care if you and Graham are bumping nasties or whatever."

Regina gave a little dismissive snort, her nostrils flaring out. "We are not doing anything of the sort."

"Sure you're not," Emma retorted, proceeding through the intersection with an amused smile on her face. It was an interesting wrinkle in the already complicated series of inter-personal relationships that Emma knew the Mayor had cultivated in her town. She didn't know if she liked the fact that Graham was sleeping with not only his boss, but a woman who wasn't too keen on his second-in-command. She bit back the urge to tease Regina further as she noticed the hot red flush of a blush across the back of the Mayor's neck, half-hidden by her hair.

Emma turned down a state access road and decided to change the subject completely. "What are the flowers for?"

Regina seemed to stiffen but relaxed very quickly. "They're for my father's grave. That's where we're going."

"Why would Graham go there?" Emma asked, eyes narrowing as she peered through the growing darkness to the gates of the cemetery. It didn't make any goddamn sense. She parked the cruiser just outside the gate and turned her attention to the ground. Sure enough, there were boot prints in the muddy half-frozen ground. The snow that had fallen the previous day had melted away to leave the ground wet and generally gross-feeling under foot.

The Mayor gathered her flowers out of the back seat of the cruiser, pausing to bat at the seat where the flowers had left residue on the seats. She straightened and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "It's where his heart is," she said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"His-wait, what?" Emma stopped and turned to grab Regina's forearm.

"His heart, dear," Regina repeated. She didn't pull away from Emma and instead closed her eyes and exhaled quietly. "Do you have your gun with you?" she asked.

Shaking her head to the negative, Emma sighed. "I didn't think I'd need it – Graham was freaked out, not rabid or whatever." She frowned, suddenly concerned that what was happening to Graham was somehow related to what had happened with the dire wolf. "I'm… not gonna need it, am I?"

Regina seemed to crumple at the question and rested her hand against her chest. Emma watched with wide eyes as the Mayor's eyes fluttered closed and a soft white light started to emanate from her fingertips. Soon a piece of metal appeared under her fingers and Emma knew that it was her job to grasp the sword by its leather handle and draw it out of Regina's chest. It felt good in her fingers, resting in its rightful place. Emma tugged once, and pulled it out as the white light grew in intensity around them.

"You may," Regina gasped as the light suddenly vanished into nothingness. Her eyes were dark and there seemed to be a storm of emotions behind them. Emma could not read her expression, and her superpower read every statement she'd said as truth. Grasping the flowers in her hand as though they somehow gave her purpose, Regina began to march purposefully across the damp ground of the cemetery. "Let's get moving."

Emma had no scabbard to place the sword in for transport. She passed it between her hands, a few times, eventually settling on carrying it in her right hand just in case something did attack them.

In the distance, a wolf howled low.

"There are no wolves in Maine," Emma muttered under her breath and quickened her pace. Regina was making quick work of the ground they had to cover, despite her singularly impractical footwear. Emma scowled as she drew level with the Mayor. "Your father is buried here?"

Regina didn't say anything, her expression stony as they came to stop in front of a large stone mausoleum. Emma let out a low whistle as she took in the black-painted door and what she assumed was some sort of family crest over the door. The door was ajar, and Emma took a protective step in front of Regina.

"Stay back," she hissed as the Mayor set the flowers down on the ground. She opened her mouth to protest as Emma gripped the sword in her hand tightly and stepped forward into the gloom. She didn't want to be responsible for anything that happened next.

Graham was lying on the ground in the small walking space between the large stone sarcophagus that dominated the small space. A broken jar lay by his head, and he was deathly pale. Emma dropped the sword to the ground and grabbed his legs, trying to haul him out of the tiny space and into what little light the flashlight that Regina had produced from her purse provided. "Hey, Graham, hey!" she called.

It wasn't easy, but she managed to move him into a position where she could check his pulse. There was no consistency in how it was beating, threading irregularly under her fingers. Emma felt a sob well up in the back of her throat as she tried to get Graham to regain consciousness. "Regina, I need you to call an ambulance." She shouted. She'd felt this sort of an erratic heartbeat before, Graham was having some sort of a heart attack.

Regina's face appeared around the mausoleum door and Emma could see the shock in her face as she fumbled in her pocket for her cell phone. "This can't be happening," she muttered as she dialed the number from memory. "This is Regina Mills. I need an ambulance at the cemetery off Access Route 6. The Sheriff is having some sort of a-"

"Irregular heartbeat," Emma supplied.

"Heart attack," Regina finished. She listened to the person on the other end for a moment. "Deputy Swan is with me, she's keeping an eye on him. Thank you." She lowered the phone and met Emma's eyes over the prone form of the sheriff between them.

"What's happened to him?" Emma asked as Regina closed the phone.

The Mayor who was once the Queen shook her head. "I… I don't know," she whispered.

Off in the distance, a wolf let out a single, mournful howl.

db

_What we did not see:_

Once, the Queen's Huntsman had come across a man in the woods. Or a rather, he met a being that had been a man. His brother wolf had followed him down a narrow gully and out across a man-made bridge known to attract trolls. The Huntsman was worried for his brother wolf, and held up a staying hand. He needed his brother to stay at the edge of the bridge as he cautiously proceeded across it.

He was prepared to kill any trolls that attacked him or moved to attack his brother. His hand was ready on his knife, sharp and deadly.

"That does look mighty pointy," a strange, frog-like voice said from behind the Huntsman. Turning, he let out a soundless roar as he saw a strange little imp of a man stroking his brother wolf's fur. "And probably mighty deadly, am I right?" The Imp cackled, clapping his hands together.

"It is a tool for killing," the Huntsman agreed. He took a step forward, hand never leaving his knife. "I am a killer."

The Imp shook a single, bony finger at him. "Ah-ah-ah," he said mockingly, stepping away from the Huntsman's brother and towards the Huntsman himself. He moved in a singularly individual way, the Huntsman thought. It was sort of a hopping step forward, as if he had favored one leg over the other and was still struggling to recover from an age of habit. "I don't think that's the truth."

The Huntsman raised his hand to press against the emptiness in his chest. The Queen had taken his heart for his betrayal and then had let him go. His brother wolf had shunned him at first, and it had taken the Huntsman many weeks to convince his brother that he was the same as before.

There were times that the Huntsman longed to be one with the animals, you see. He understood them far better than he understood humans. The Queen had been so angry at a little girl with skin as fair as snow for nothing more than a perceived slight. Or at least that was what the Queen had told him. He had no reason not to believe her. She had seemed a decent enough being, for a human.

"She took something from you, didn't she?" The Imp asked, eyes flicking down to where the Huntsman's fingers slipped under his shirt to press against cold and clammy skin.

The Huntsman nodded, he didn't dare put it into words.

"What's it worth to you to get it back?"

"Anything," The Huntsman breathed. He looked down at his person, his merger possessions that a human-like being would find of worth. He had little to give and even less than that he felt was worth the price of his heart. "I would give anything."

The Imp raised a single finger and smiled to reveal crooked teeth. "I'll help you get it back, yes, yes I will." He pointed to the Huntsman's brother wolf. "I want his pelt."

Bile rose in the Huntsman's throat and he took a step backwards, stumbling on the troll's bridge. He couldn't, not even for his own heart. His brother was his brother, the closest thing he had to a companion.

"Tick-Tock, wolf boy," The imp cackled. "This deal," he explained with a flourish, "Has an expiration date."

The Huntsman threw his knife at the Imp's feet. "I will make no deal with you," he hissed. He turned and stalked across the bridge, his brother wolf would collect the knife.

The Imp watched the Queen's Huntsman go and smiled wickedly to himself. He would get the Huntsman back his heart sooner or later. He was, after all, a very patient man. It simply _wouldn't do_ for the Queen to have a knight waiting for her once she cast his curse. Simply wouldn't do.

_Or perhaps, what we chose not to see._

* * *

Oh My Goodness, the response to the last chapter was amazing! You guys all rock! Thank you so much!

Annnnd I am sorry any Graham fans, there's some shadow play going on, and he really had to go. :(

Next: The Sheriff and the Mayor


	7. Chapter 7

**an: **Some readers might find this triggering, you have been advised.

**Chapter Seven – The Sheriff and The Mayor**

The witch lay a fair spread, the traveler would give her that. Her bread was perhaps a day old and her soup full of vegetables that would far better growing in fields, not wild along the forest floor. There was cheese and the stock of the soup was obviously that of beef. It filled the traveler's belly and pooled warmth at the base of her stomach, driving away the chill of the rain and the forest. She could not remember the last time that she had had a warm meal and she embraced the feeling as warmly as she could, the memory of the witch's hands closing around her neck still fresh in her mind.

Her breeches and the little boy's shoes were draped on the grate in front of the fire, the worn leather sizzling as the moisture of the wet and the rain was driven off of them. The traveler had burned many a pair of pants in her day, and was keeping a close watch on them as she ate, spooning the soup's broth in her mouth with all the grace of her upbringing.

"And here I was expecting you to eat like my son," the witch commented as the traveler set her spoon down daintily on the edge of her bowl. There was a twinkle of amusement in the woman's eye and the traveler found herself smiling back.

The little boy looked at his mother with an almost affronted gleam in his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. "I'm getting better," he protested, his cheeks puffing out moodily. He had changed into a long white shirt and knit stockings that went all the way down to his house shoes. The traveler thought that he looked angelic, sitting there with his cheeks shining and hair still damp from the rain. It was frizzing as it dried, sticking up at all angles.

The witch offered him a napkin, which he took and dabbed at his mouth with such an exaggerated level of prim and properness that the traveler snorted into her mug of cider. "You are indeed," the witch murmured, smoothing down his hair with an affectionate smile.

The traveler had grown up knowing of this witch, of this evil being that was somehow deeply connected to her life. The witch was a shadowy figure that flirted with the edges of her childhood, a specter upon her family's legacy.

Her father was a good man, a fair king. He had longed for a son, and the bond that he shared with his lone child was far more of a father and a son than a daughter and her father. He taught her to ride, to drive away her fear of combat and of horses. He taught her to hunt and to battle the darkness within her and all around her.

The traveler's mother's past was clouded. She was a princess, the daughter of a beloved king - the traveler knew this as truth. Her mother was also not the best person in the world. Her history was tainted with subterfuge and this woman - this witch who was once the queen. The traveler watched her as she ate, her movements every bit the part of a lady at table.

"Tell me, what brings you to my woods, traveler?" the witch asked. Her eyes were on her son, concentrating as he spooned soup into his mouth.

The traveler set down her spoon and knit her hands together and leaned forward. Her chin rested on her bridged fingers and she found herself trying to find the answer that she did not quite have. "I wanted to meet the forest mistress," she confessed after a moment. Honesty was the least that she owed the witch for her hospitality. "I heard tell of her closer to my homeland and I thought she might be the one to help me."

The little boy turned curious eyes towards the traveler, whose cheeks burned at his scrutiny. His cheeks puffed out in concentration. "Isn't the forest mistress..." he trailed off and turned to look at his mother, who wiped her mouth daintily with a napkin as he continued, "You, mom?"

"I suppose that it is a name I have been called in the past," the witch acquiesced. She shot the traveler a long look across the table, her lips curling into a shrewd smile that made her look far more dangerous than before. "One of many," she all but purred.

"I would be a fool to assume any differently," the traveler replied smoothly.

"Then why did you come?" The boy demanded, fingers reaching blindly for the cuff of the traveler's shirt. It was still damp at the sleeves, drying quickly in the warmth of the witch's home.

The traveler opened her mouth to speak and no words came out. She did not know why she'd come. There were no words to describe the feeling she felt inside her. It pushed her to move, to flee the castle that she'd called home all of her life. She had been cursed as a child - her mother had said as much - cursed by a witch of a queen with favor she had not earned.

She had to prove herself a champion to the woman who was once the queen. To earn the favor she'd been granted so that her life and honor were not forfeit in the perspective of the old ways.

"I..." she fumbled though the words. "I came because-"

"I asked you to come because this is _your_ doing," the hiss was low and dangerous, but Emma heard it clearly as she shifted in the uncomfortable hospital chair and tried to force herself back into the dream.

Her dreams were damn fantastical, but at least they made more sense than her life right now. Emma screwed up her nose and shifted again, knowing that sleep wouldn't return. She'd squandered her chance - or rather Regina had squandered her chance by making a damn racket and yelling at someone while she was sleeping. Emma gave a quiet huff and shifted again. Her ass was asleep.

Emma cracked a sleepy eye open and saw a very different-looking vision of Storybrooke's mayor. Her cheeks were streaked shiny with tears; her mascara had run down across her face giving her a harrowed look that made Emma want to lunge for the sword she'd been given before. Regina had been crying, and she'd somehow fallen asleep.

The mayor was standing with her arms wrapped around herself, Graham's leather jacket over her shoulders. She was speaking in hushed, angry tones to Mr. Gold, who was sipping pensively on a cup of coffee and looking more bored than anything else by her anger. Emma felt her hackles rise just looking at him.

"What do you want me to do, dearie?" His tone was mild, but Emma could hear the contempt in it. She wanted to give away wakefulness by pointing out that there was _plenty_ he could do, elsewhere. This was a place for those who were waiting on word from Doctor Whale about the sheriff. "There are rules in these sorts of things, he was not meant to be a part."

"He was _mine_," Regina raged, jabbing her finger into Gold's chest. "Like it or not, you have your things and I have mine. I - like you - do not appreciate others tampering with them."

"We both know that that's not entirely true," Gold replied smoothly. "You couldn't have him and what he stood for, Madame Mayor." He reached out a tentative hand and gave her shoulder an awkward pat before leaning forward, and saying in an undertone. "Please," Emma could hear the smugness in his voice and see how Regina' shoulders had stiffened, every muscle in her body tight. "Let it go."

What Regina did then was not what Emma would have ever expected from her. She gave a sigh and stepped aside, watching as Mr. Gold limped past her with a self-satisfied smile on his face. Emma could see her hands clenched into fists, she could see the white knuckles there and she stood up in an instant.

It was three steps to Regina, four to have her within range and have Emma's hands pressing soothing circles into her back as the Mayor sobbed into Emma's shoulder. "He was mine," she kept muttering over and over again. "Mine."

_My knight_.

Emma's brow furrowed. She was positive that this was not how Henry would envision the Evil Queen in his stories reacting to the death of one of her servants. She didn't know if it was because they were sleeping together – and probably had been sleeping together for some time – that Regina was reacting like this. Graham was a friend, a close friend to them both. Emma had done her best to force the terrible memories that had surfaced when he had kissed her back down from whence they'd come. They had no business being present at a time like this.

When Doctor Whale had carted Graham off into surgery, Emma had collapsed into a chair, head buried in her hands. She hadn't thought to text Mary Margaret and tell her that she'd be late coming home – or to ask Regina where Henry was. Her mind was full of worry for a man who had shown her nothing but kindness and misguided affection.

She wasn't good at hospitals or relationships. Had this been any other town at any other time in her life, she would have high-tailed it out of there the moment Graham kissed her. She wouldn't have stuck around to make sure he was okay – she probably would not have even noticed how his breathing had come erratic and his eyes were wide and almost _feral _looking in that moment.

It hasn't even been that long, she wants to protest, but she knows that it's not true. Her entire life, probably, has culminated in the events that led her to Storybrooke. She was finally starting to understand and accept that. To be here, to be there for all the people she's somehow come to care about when others who have wanted that level of connection from her have failed, was new and terrifying for Emma. She was never good at relationships, but Storybrooke is forcing her to change.

Emma took a deep breath and did the one thing that she probably should not do in such a moment. She leaned forward, burying her nose in Regina's hair. The Mayor smelled of pine and a fresh scent that Emma couldn't place. There was a layer of expensive perfume and the heady smell of fear there as well. So much fear. "I'm yours too," she whispered, the words falling flat and stupid from her lips. "Your knight."

Regina stilled in her arms, fingers curling around the lapel of Emma's jacket. She could feel the Mayor's breath, hot and heavy on her neck as the Mayor leaned in. Despite herself, Emma shivered. "Graham is dead, Gold can never know of your connection to me."

He... he was dead? Emma felt her own body still and she took a horrified step backwards from Regina. Graham was good and kind. He was like a big puppy and he was in the prime of his life – he couldn't be dead. Emma raised a shaking hand to cover her mouth as she tried to wrap her mind around what had happened. It was impossible, it had to be impossible.

The Mayor's expression was unreadable, her jaw set in a hard line and her lips pressed flat and almost white. She looked for all the world like she wanted to retreat back into Emma's arms and forget the torture of this day. "Why didn't you wake me?" She hissed.

It wasn't really the question that she wanted to ask, but she knew that Regina could not really articulate a response to much else right now. "Gold," She explained, gesturing towards the door that the pawnbroker had stalked out of just moments before. "I was afraid that I would lose my…" Regina trailed off, thinking of the right word.

"Cool?" Emma suggested, mind racing at the implications of _that. _

Regina sighed, "If I spoke like you or Henry, I suppose that would be suitable, yes." She looked away, arms still wrapped around herself and towards the doors that lead to the ER operating room. Emma watched as she bit her lip and seemed to contemplate something before turning back to Emma. "He doesn't have any family here," To say that the Mayor looked almost _lost_ was to say that the Mayor actually knew how to handle such a situation. "I..."

Emma swallowed, because she'd known that. Graham had mentioned in one of their off-handed talks during the long quiet hours at the station (because _nothing_ ever happened in Storybrooke) that he didn't have much in the way of family. Emma had sympathies at the time, because she did not have much in the way of family either. She never did. "Should we…" she trailed off, because to _make arrangements_ would solidify the fact that Graham was dead, and she did not want to force herself to think about that.

"Yes," Regina agreed, and Emma looked up at her with weak and weary eyes. They had to do this, it was the right thing to do.

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Later that night, over a glass of warmed cider, Regina explained to Emma her fears about Gold. Emma had walked to the Mayor's house after heading to the station and processing some of the paperwork from the incident that had led to Graham's death. There was some sort of a solace in the repetitive work, and Emma had finally found herself calming down enough to process what had happened.

She had spent a while with her head in her hands, fingers pulling at her hair as she tried to figure out what she could have done differently. She could have _saved_ Graham. She'd been trained on how to save lives what felt like a lifetime ago, but still she had done nothing. The CPR she'd started before the EMTs had arrived had done nothing, he'd probably been dead long before he'd ever arrived at the hospital.

The dry wracking sobs that had taken her body in that moment had not subsided for what felt like hours. Graham had been a friend. Despite the last few moments that they'd spent together and the horrible memories that he'd been able to dredge up, Graham had been one of the few friendly faces in this town when she'd first arrived. To say that he had been a friend would be understating it somewhat.

She mourned the loss of her friend because he did indeed have no family here.

"What do we do," she asked as Regina pressed the warm mug into her hands and lead her into the study. She had been informed that Kathryn Nolan had dropped Henry off a few hours ago, exhausted from what she considered to be an hour of hard work. David had apparently taken Henry on his evening trip to feed the animals at the shelter, so he'd spent the entire evening being fed junk food and playing with puppies. Compared to how both Regina and Emma had spent their evening, it sounded absolutely wonderful.

Regina left the door ajar and crossed to the window. She stood, her form a sharp contrast to the black night outside. "I don't know," she admitted.

Emma took a long swig of her cider and moved to stand on the other side of the window. The street was quiet, the clouds above murky and overcast. Emma stared at the sky and wondered if it would snow this evening. It had been threatening to do so for several days now, the slight flurries of the previous attempts had left the ground muddy and wet – but it had not stuck. "Did…" she trailed off, thinking about what Regina had said about Graham's heart being contained inside that mausoleum. "Did you really have his heart down there?"

The gaze that met her own was unapologetic as Regina gave a small shrug. "You still do not believe in the curse fully, Ms. Swan, how am I to explain to you the more _grisly_ elements of what I had to do to create this town?"

She hadn't been expecting that. Regina had never explicitly hid the truth from her after the dire wolf had attacked. This almost seemed like a step backwards for her to be testy about it now. Emma had seen her at her most vulnerable today; it seemed only fair that they were honest with each other. "So it was down there," Emma concluded.

The mayor nodded. "My reasons for having it are not for you to know, nor for you to ask."

Emma had not planned on it. Henry had told her all about the Evil Queen's curse and the sacrifice and hatred it had taken for it to even work, once cast.

She watched as Regina moved to lean against the back of the sofa, pensively resting her own mug of cider against her chin as she stared at Emma with dark and unreadable eyes. Emma wanted to say a million things to her in that moment, starting with pointing out that they were in this together, starting from the moment Regina had smeared her blood all over Emma's face. It was so strange to find herself feeling completely and utterly blown away by the situation on hand.

"How the hell do you get someone's heart and keep it alive?" It seemed like the most honest question to ask, the sort of question that could draw an answer out of Regina and not have her shut down entirely.

Regina raised an eyebrow over her mug and smirked. There was a lipstick impression on the edge of the mug, blood red and oh – so enticing. Emma swallowed, and forced her eyes away from the stain and up to meet Regina's amused look. "Why, magic, dear." She stepped forward and into Emma's personal space. "Did you expect any less of me?"

Emma hesitated, but then raised her hands to rest on Regina's shoulders. "I suppose I didn't," she confessed with a wry smile. She inclined her head to the side and added, "Still doesn't explain how it exists _here_. Both you and Henry have told me that there is no magic in this world."

Long, cold fingers closed around Emma's hands, pulling them away from Regina's shoulders and holding them between their two bodies. Regina's eyes narrowed dangerously and her grip tightened to the point where it was painful. Emma kept her face as straight as she could, she refused to let the pain show on her face. This was a battle of wills between the pair of them, she would not fall victim again.

"You will find," Regina said, leaning forward, so closer her breath was hot on Emma's lips. "That these things have a way of working themselves out, _Emma._"

She didn't want to tell Regina that she would rather think that there was no magic in this world than the alternative. She had brought Henry into this world under the worst circumstances imaginable. To know that there was magic that could solve problems and end lives just like that was too much, and the weight of it tumbled down upon her shoulders. She couldn't do this, she couldn't be that person.

Regina's eyes were shining. She looked almost predatory, lips dangerously red and eyes gleaming in the half-light of the study. Emma knew what she wanted to do in that moment and the idea terrified her, because it would be so easy to change the rules of their relationship. From the way that Regina's nostrils were flaring and how she was almost biting her lip in anticipation, she was not alone in her desires.

"I want you to be sheriff," Regina said suddenly, hands releasing Emma and backing away to pick up her mug once more. Emma blinked at the sudden removal of Regina from her presence and looked down at the floor. "I have to know that if anyone goes digging into your past that there aren't any skeletons in your closet."

Emma folded her arms across her chest. Her skeletons were hardly the sort that she would reveal to a woman like Regina. "Like you don't already know them."

"I know that you were a minor when Henry was born, and that he was born in a correctional facility in Phoenix," Regina said primly, but there was a look of something after she'd said the words that told Emma everything. Emma straightened and scowled, hating that her secret was known by another.

The Mayor sighed when Emma gave her best and most defiant look. Who the hell was Regina to judge her for shit that had happened in her life and the subsequent decisions she'd made? "I…" Regina began, setting down her mug and staring down at it for a long moment before turning her attention back to Emma. "I want to know if there's anything else."

"There isn't," Emma promised, because what was left unspoken was more than enough of a burden to bear. "We've both shared our secrets."

"For better or for worse, Ms. Swan, for better or for worse."

Emma was inclined to agree with Regina. It sounded like a promise, and as Emma raised her mug in an almost mocking toast to the predicament that she'd found herself in, the smile that twisted across Regina's lips turned from almost pleasant to downright twisted.

Perhaps she'd over played her hand.

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She stepped out of Storybrooke's city hall and winced as a blast of cold air hit her. It stole her breath away and made Emma curse loudly as she pulled her scarf more tightly across her mouth and tugged her cap down over her ears. She'd just sat through twenty minutes of pointed questions from Sydney Glass regarding her appointment to Graham's vacant sheriff position. He'd wanted to know why she'd been appointed so suddenly, Graham's funeral had barely been a week ago.

"There's always a need for law enforcement," Emma had explained to the reporter as he'd scribbled down notes. "Graham was a friend - a _good _friend to both the Mayor and myself – to say that I accept this position with a heavy heart is an understatement. As Mayor Mills said, I'm the best man for the job."

Sydney Glass had seemed at least reasonably at peace with what she had said. She'd left him with a few questions for the Mayor over some sort of city ordnance about pet licenses or something. Emma was grateful, she'd been grilled by many people in her time, but the reporter was one of the more dogged in his pursuit for answers that she'd encountered.

Bowing her head to the stiff breeze that was blowing in off the ocean, Emma headed towards the sheriff's station. She had half a mind to stop at Granny's for some cocoa before getting on with the day's work, but thought better of it as she saw Mr. Gold crossing the street right by the diner. She wanted nothing to do with Gold after what she had overheard at the hospital. She still wasn't sure if he knew that she'd overheard, but he certainly had been interested to know that the mayor had decided to appoint Emma the town's sheriff.

She kept her head down, hoping to avoid a conversation with Gold. She knew that he'd seen her, however, when he paused, seemingly unperturbed by the biting chill in the air. Emma sighed and straightened, hands still tucked into her jacket pockets as she strode purposefully on.

"Good day, Deputy – or should I say _Sheriff_ Swan," Mr. Gold's smile was polite, but disinterested. Emma knew that every statement he made was dripping with disingenuous courtesy and interest – it didn't even take her super power to figure that out. "It seems that winter is finally upon us."

"Indeed it does," Emma sniffed the air, smelling wood smoke and the kitchen at Granny's. Her stomach growled low, and Emma tried to push down the flare of embarrassment that she felt at the sound. It had been a long morning already. "Did you want something, Mr. Gold? I have things I need to do and most of my morning is already gone."

Gold eyed her curiously and Emma shifted uncomfortably under his eyes. Regina had never specified who Gold was in the book – and Henry had said that he'd never quite been able to figure it out. Gold had created the curse, which set him in direct opposition to Regina. Emma was willing to take the bet that he was probably at least somewhat aware of who Henry thought she was in the big scheme of the curse. "I merely wished to welcome you into the role you now fill, Sheriff."

"Well thank you," Emma said as politely as she could. She was lying through her teeth but then again, so was he. She shivered, the cold biting through her jacket and sinking down to her bones. She _hated_ Maine. Why the fuck couldn't it have been somewhere temperate – Savannah was nice all year round. Hot as balls in the summer, but not this fucking cold, never this cold. "I should get going, nice talking to you."

Gold bowed his head and let her pass, before adding, "Please drop by my shop tomorrow, Sheriff, I have some things of Graham's – I was his landlord-"

Emma turned to stare at him, the request seemed odd. "You own the apartment complex?"

"One of them," Gold pointed out with a wry grin that came nowhere near his eyes. "But do come by, Ms. Swan."

"I'll be there," Emma agreed. There was a knot at the base of her stomach as she said the words, like she was agreeing to something that could absolutely not be broken. It felt strange, and she was oddly angry at the request. She should not be forced to bend to Gold's will.

She walked away with an uneasy feeling settling onto her shoulders.

Regina had not minced words when she told Emma to stay away from Mr. Gold. Graham had said the same thing before he'd died and still Emma knew deep at the base of her stomach that he was the villain in this piece. Regina was not a saint, that much was for sure. Henry had explained how the curse had been cast when Emma had first met him. She'd _killed _her own father to get it to work.

What the hell had happened to her to get her that way?

Emma knew that her loyalties were divided in this conflict. She wanted to be there for Regina, because she was honor-bound to be there. Regina was the queen who had granted her favor and like it or not, something about this goddamn town bound Emma to her will. She also knew that Henry had a point and that he'd figured out that his adoptive mother was the Evil Queen in his stories somehow.

She'd yet to really figure it out, but she'd yet to see Regina consciously show affection for Henry when he wasn't somehow in danger or half-asleep. She bit her lip and hunched her shoulders into the wind again, wincing as her teeth broke through flesh. She had to get something for the cold and her lips – she was not going to survive the winter here. The pain kept her focused. She'd stayed because she wanted to make sure that Henry was okay, she'd found out the truth about Storybrooke because she'd been in the right place at the wrong time, and now she was trapped in between two very different allegiances.

"Why were you talking to Mr. Gold?" Emma jumped about a foot in the air as she heard the question. Henry was standing in the patio of Granny's, a to-go cup of what Emma hoped was hot chocolate clutched in his mitten-clad hands.

"Jesus kid," she hissed, her heart still racing. She pressed a hand on her chest and took a few long and calming breaths before she tugged at her scarf so it was down below her mouth. Her breath fogged the mid-morning air and she took deep breaths to calm down after Henry had damn near scared the shit out of her. "Why aren't you in school?"

"We have in service today," Henry explained, sipping his cocoa. "I have a project to work on, so I'm going to go back to my mom's office and use her computer while she's in meetings."

Emma's eyes narrowed, thinking about how Mary Margaret had left at the ass-crack of dawn that morning to get to some sort of youth science fairy-thing involving a volcano. She'd have to look into that, because come to think of it, it was totally transparent. "Well, you should get going. You don't want to be late for your mom."

"She's not my mom," Emma's shoulders stiffened at Henry's proclamation. "_You_ are."

She couldn't deal with this right now. She just couldn't, there was too much on her plate. She let her hands fall to her sides and looked away. "Henry," she began, emotion swelling up at the back of her throat. This was the one thing that she knew she could never have, this beautiful little boy before her who wanted nothing more than to be exposed to how bad a person Emma truly was. "Henry I'm no good," she said pathetically. "Your mom loves you."

He looked up at her with wide eyes, his cheeks rosy in the cold. "She doesn't love me," he retorted. "She never has. You don't know what it was like with her – stuck alone with only her."

Emma bent down and knelt before him. He was her little prince, he had to be. "I know it's hard to see it Henry, but your mom is a good person."

"She's the _Evil Queen_," Henry pointed out. Emma bit back the smile that threatened to blossom across her features at that statement. "She should be locked up."

She patted his head, "I've been locked up, Henry – I wouldn't wish it on anyone." She paused as his eyes widened. "Even the evil queen in your story and _certainly_ not the woman who took care of you your whole life."

His lower lip jutted out stubbornly and Emma smiled, there was that expression that she knew so well. Regina did it too, looking all regal and pouty and adorable. Not that Regina was adorable, she was more, _terrifying_ and pouty. Yes. "You were in jail?" he asked with wide eyes. "Why?"

"Because I did a bad thing," Emma explained. She reached out to touch his shoulder, feeling his body underneath his thick and warm jacket. He was tense and scared, she knew it. "I told you, I'm no good."

"You're better than _her._" Henry retorted moodily, pushing past Emma and stalking off down the street towards the city hall building and his mother's office. Emma watched him go as she tried to calm the maelstrom of emotions that had surged up inside of her. It was the first time, Emma realized, that she had ever recognized Henry's father in him.

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Mary Margaret was there, like always, when Emma escaped Henry, the day's work and three annoyingly persistent follow up calls from Sydney Glass, to retreat back to the apartment. She was caught up in her mind, in memories that she tried to force down and keep buried. She couldn't believe that she'd never bothered to look at Henry beyond his resemblance to herself and to Regina. There was something else there, something that scared Emma in its intensity.

She'd seen it before, in that moment that Graham had kissed her. The moment that had pushed her back, mentally to a time long before that; the one she wanted with all her heart to forget. It was a constant nightmare, those memories, and she'd gotten good at running when the dreams came, before the dreams took a turn for the dark and terrifying.

She wasn't coping with Graham's death well, no one in town really was. Regina's private assertions did not make it any less of a public freak accident – she'd floated a theory about what had happened long into their conversation the night that Regina had appointed her sheriff. There were no grounds, and Regina had warned her off Mr. Gold before she could really even put her nose to the scent. Emma was inclined to believe her about her theory, but she wasn't prepared to voice it just yet. Certainly not to Mary Margaret.

Not when their own relationship was so utterly complicated.

"What's eating you?" Mary Margaret asked as Emma moodily tossed her car keys across the kitchen island and slumped down on the couch next to her roommate. Emma watched as Mary Margaret set aside the newspaper that she was reading and turned to give Emma her full attention.

"Henry," Emma explained. She'd jammed her hands into her pockets, fingering the three pennies and a dime she had in there that amounted to her change from lunch. "He's… well, he's being really bad about his mom. And about me, I guess. I keep trying to tell him that she's a better mother than I'll ever be." She sighed, "I told him that I'd been to jail and he wanted to know why."

Mary Margaret inclined her head to the side, the universal 'go on' gesture. "Did you tell him?"

"That I'd broken into a house because I was freezing to death in the middle of the winter trying to get away from his asshole father?" Emma gave a rueful laugh. "Of course not." She sighed, body pitching forward as she stared down at her hands. "I told him that I had done a bad thing." She knew that it was coming and the words came forth almost before she could stop them and actually think about what she was saying. She'd never had someone she could talk to like Mary Margaret. She felt safe enough to admit. "I couldn't bring myself to explain further."

"Safe from the man who fathered him?" Mary Margaret's question was clarifying, but there was a strangled and pained tone in her voice that told Emma all that she needed to know about how Mary Margaret felt about that particular situation. Mary Margaret was the friend that she'd so desperately needed as a kid, and she had the mothering instinct that made her approachable and comforting.

(And she maybe, just maybe, truly was Emma's mother.)

Emma refused to get her hopes up.

Her entire body was a tense line, and Emma stared resolutely ahead. "I don't ever talk about this," she admitted, feeling awkward just saying it. "I've _never_ talked about this."

"What happened?" Mary Margaret asked gently. She didn't look like she expected an answer and Emma was grateful for that.

The threads of the story came together easily, and Emma found it easier to tell as she thought about where best to begin the story. She thought for a moment, before beginning. "I was seventeen. I'd run away from the group home I was assigned because it was no better than a prison." She glanced around at the apartment she'd come to share with Mary Margaret and thought about how she would have reacted to such a place at age seventeen. She didn't think that Mary Margaret would appreciate her ICP CDs or the Marshall Mathers LP that she still listened to on occasion. Mary Margaret was too, well, pure for how Emma had been as a teenager. "I'd hitched a ride from Providence to Cleveland with a trucker - she was pretty cool, honestly - came from a situation sort of like mine. She left me in Cleveland and I realized very quickly that I wasn't prepared to be homeless in a city in the middle of the winter."

Emma knew she was being really careful to _not_ look at Mary Margaret. She couldn't tell this story seeing the expression that was sure to be growing on her friend's face. She exhaled, running a hand through her hair, "I would hang out by bars, I didn't want to hook or whatever, but I did want someone to take my home. By that time, most of the guys on the streets were Desert Storm vets, and they didn't like girls much. There was this guy, I never knew his name, who offered me a place to stay - said I looked too young and was too clean to be on the streets."

"You went with him?" Mary Margaret asked, eyebrows raised.

She shrugged. "I was freezing to death," Emma explained, because it was the only reasoning she had. She didn't know why she'd gone with him; it had seemed like the _right_ thing to do at the time. Emma had always had feelings that had driven her choices in life, and that one moment had been no different. She'd seen the man be kind to the vets and the kids on the street. She figured that he couldn't have been that bad. Mary Margaret should understand her reasoning, really she should. "I figured he'd be okay, he was clean cut, didn't use. He expected things from me, I um... well, I did them because it was him or the streets with the PTSD crazies sealing what little shit I had." At Mary Margaret's horrified look, Emma added, "I did say no, and he stopped, for a while."

"And then he started?" Mary Margaret's hand was warm on her shoulder and Emma felt her resolve drop. Her biggest secret, the one that she'd yet to really ever articulate to anyone. The one that Henry could never, ever, know.

"I- Yes. He did." Her voice choked up as she shoved at the coffee table with her toe. Anything to not look at Mary Margaret, she'd have to stop if she looked at her. "I ran away after that, as far as I could get from him. I went to one shelter after another. No one wants a teenager who's just been through all that in their shelter. He kept finding me, said it was what he'd done all his life."

"So you broke into a house and got caught on purpose?" There was realization in Mary Margaret's tone and Emma turned to glance at her friend. Mary Margaret's eyes were very wide, but other than that, her expression as completely neutral and non-judgmental. Emma was grateful that the questions at least had been reasonable and easy to answer. Mary Margaret had never asked if she'd specifically been raped, and Emma would never tell her that yes, she had. She was only just now, nearly a decade later, starting to be okay with what happened.

She nodded at Mary Margaret's question. "It was the only way out that I could think of. I was out of options - I knew that if he found me again that he would do it again. I'd just found out I was pregnant at that point and I wasn't showing yet, so I did what I thought was my only option." She remembered very clearly what it was like to stand in that bus station bathroom, stolen pregnancy test clutched between shaking fingers as she held it up to the light to be positive of the results. She had known in that moment that she had no choice, and had picked a house that she knew had a security system. She'd sat on the front steps until the police had come, and had surrendered herself willingly. The terror of those moments was surpassed only by the feeling of absolute nauseous panic that had come with that man on top of her, and when Henry had knocked on her door with the excited proclamation that he was her son. "I explained it to the DA when I pleading out of a trial and she - well, I guess she had a better heart than most - she got me a special waiver of some sort, got me sent to Phoenix. That's where Henry was born."

The smile that Emma found herself giving Mary Margaret was completely fake and they both knew it. It was as weak as Emma felt, finally telling the story to another human who wasn't a court-appointed shrink. She felt as though a huge weight had lifted from her shoulders, laid bare before this person who was still enough of a stranger to not judge her but a good enough friend to give her the sympathy that she'd never allowed herself to receive. "And there, that's the worst moment in my life, by far," she quipped as Mary Margaret pitched forward and gathered Emma up into a hug.

It was warm there, trapped in the embrace of a friend that Emma had come to trust more than anyone. Emma felt the tension in her shoulders relax ever so slightly as Mary Margaret held her tight. She wanted the curse to be absolutely true, and for Henry to be right and for Regina to be telling the truth. For Mary Margaret to be her mother would be wonderful, even if she wasn't sure that she was ready to suddenly find herself with parents after sending her entire life as an orphan.

She knew she'd probably be angry with them, when the time came. She was angry with them now. Why the hell did they abandon her?

"Does the Mayor know?" Mary Margaret asked, her chin digging into Emma's shoulder. Her voice pulled Emma out of her thoughts and back to the present moment. "About this…?"

"I imagine so – she knows everything else," Emma replied. She'd seen the look in Regina's eyes when Emma had asked if there were skeletons in her closet besides the obvious one. She'd seen the pity and she'd hated it in that moment – forcing it away and turning it into a dare for Regina to push it further. They weren't on opposing sides now, but they weren't exactly allies either. Realization of how it would play out would come with time, and Emma hoped to God that Henry never discovered the truth in that lie. "I don't think that she'd ever use it against me, it would hurt Henry too much."

At least that was what she hoped. Regina Mills was a complicated individual on the best of days. Emma hated how hot and cold she seemed, as if she was trapped between two extremes of emotions, constantly. She wanted to know why that was, and why she could never be the person that was there for Regina. She wanted to know why Regina couldn't express what could be considered human affection in a normal human way.

It had gotten bad enough for Henry seek her out – and the longer she spent around the Mayor the more Emma knew that she had to get to the bottom of whatever was rotten in Storybrooke.

If it was the last thing she ever did.

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_So what have we been missing?_

Magic had always caused time in the realms it controlled to not be linear. Magic had always been able to warp time, to move it forwards and backwards, to stop it all together. The entire purpose of curses was to alter the very fabric of reality as it unfurls before the magic wielder, a terrible spell, cast out of malice and hatred.

You see, a witch must hate the magic that consumes her in order to wish it all away.

The circumstances of the life of the little girl who was the grand-daughter of the miller had always been planned. The Dark One had found the perfect soul long before she had come to him, consumed by grief and anger and the entirely wrong person. He had helped to shape her into the pitiful being she now was, manipulating her life in a way that only he could, driving her slowly to despair.

When the girl who would be the queen was very young, her mother had made a deal with the devil. The devil was on an epic quest at the time, a dalliance as he waited patiently for the moment when his plan could once more be set into action. He saw the love that the mother had for her daughter and he wanted it for himself. Deep within the most hidden places in his mind, the devil knew that love and knew it well. The love of a parent to their child, he reasoned, was the purest love of all.

The devil wanted to bottle true love - to capture the feeling that he knew he would never experience. True love was the most powerful magic of all, everyone knew that. It was the only magic that could break all curses. He needed it to safeguard his own plans.

And so he made a deal with the miller's daughter. Her love of her child for power to bring her child greatness. The cost was immense for the miller's daughter, a cost she had never truly realized at the time the deal with struck. Such was the power of the devil, he could twist intentions into the worst of motivations.

The miller's daughter grew to hate her child. The magic that was bestowed upon her fed on the darkness in her heart - driving her to do horrible things in the name of the love of her daughter.

The girl who would be queen's mother grew into the devil herself. She would use magic to punish the slightest wrong, and when the magic did not take, the miller's daughter would turn to a switch and then a belt. The wounds were deep, cutting though flesh and psyche together until there was nothing but mute obedience. The scars across the future queen's body would linger until the end of her days.

It was not until the miller's daughter went too far that the girl who would be queen truly understood the darkness that had claimed her mother's soul. It was not until her one love's heart was dust in her mother's hand that the girl who would be queen came to realize that the magic she hated so was the only weapon against the iron-grip of her mother's will.

The devil found her there, fleeing the kingdom that would be her own, riding hard and fast down a forest road. He saw her desperation and the darkness that already circled her own heart. She was a kindred spirt, and he had found his vessel.

The miller's granddaughter would be queen and she would cast his curse.

"Consider this," he said, pressing a dirty thumb with cracked nail against her forehead. "An investment in your future, dearie."

The girl who became the queen the following rest day before her mother's approving smile took to magic like the devil could never have anticipated. Her aptitude and her power scared him - and contingency plans began to be put into place. He altered the wording in his curse, changed it to isolate the queen. She had to be away from magic and any that might support her.

He would take away her knights one by one, strip her to nothing, and finally be able to complete the task he had set out to do so long ago now.

The Dark One never anticipated his patsy would create a knight for herself out of his contingency plan, you see.

_This is the joy of the story, isn't it?_

_Yes, the devil's on defense._

_Pity, he should have elected to receive._

_Yes, they're coming and they're coming hard._

* * *

You guys are super duper awesome, thank you so much for your kind reviews!

Sorry for the slight delay getting this out. I had work-related training all week which meant that my writing time (I usually write on my breaks) was disturbed because I wasn't at a computer. Sad, but true, I tend to do social things and not write all that much when I'm at home.

I apologize if anyone found this chapter at all hard to read. I have a hard time envisioning Emma as a character being the sort of girl who has a one night stand with a guy at seventeen and decides to keep the kid. No, there had to be a hell of a lot more to it than that. I wanted her to be in a position in her relationship with Mary Margaret that she was willing to tell her about what had happened, but also to imply heavily that Regina might already know. That, in particular, is rather important to the plot.

I'm really sorry, again, Graham fans. I was trying to show a slightly more human side of Regina in her reaction to Graham, because really, she's been sleeping with him for probably 28 years. She'd have to feel something for him if she wasn't the one who had caused his death (more on that later heheheheheh).

Next: The Price and Might of Magic


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight - The Price and Might of Magic**

With an apron tied around her waist, its bib pulled up high, the traveler sank her arms into the warm water before her. She had offered, as the witch had so graciously offered her a place to rest for the evening, to clean up after their shared meal. It had seemed only fair, as the witch had cooked, and her offer had been met with the presentation of an apron and a bar of olive oil soap scented with rosemary.

"I would never expect a princess-" the witch gave the traveler an appraising look, taking in her tunic and woolen stockings. The traveler glanced down at them and winced, realizing that they had once belonged to her father and had been hastily shoved into her pack when she was preparing to depart the castle. "Or would you prefer _prince_?"

The traveler's ears flushed bright red and she took half a step backwards in her borrowed house shoes. She had always been a knight and a fighter, her place was not in the home. Her mother had been forced into that same position by this very woman, and yet she still relished in the feminine arts that the traveler so detested. She scowled at the witch for her comment; a dig about how she chose to carry herself was never acceptable. "I'd rather your son not discover who I am," she explained in a whisper.

The little boy was obviously taken with her, and the traveler did not want him to grow too attached. She would be gone in a matter of days, pulled forward into the forest by a wanderlust that she could never quite place. The traveler had oftentimes longed for a child of her own, someone that she could share her love of the world and the stories it held. She forced those emotions down and away, the witch could probably smell them on her.

She was met with an indulgent look and a pleasant smile that was almost predatory in its nature. "You think he doesn't already know, dear?" She reached out and patted the traveler on the shoulder. "You must think us both fools."

The traveler swallowed her tongue with her pride as she bent to her task, ears still red with humiliation. "I don't think you fools," she muttered, scrubbing with the rag she'd been given at the bowl in her hands. "I just don't want to confirm any suspicions he has."

Leaning against a support beam, the witch seemed almost confused by this statement. The traveler watched as she allowed her finger to move backwards and forwards though the air, weaving what the traveler could only imagine to be invisible threads of logic together. Her lips pursed and her entire body seemed to move forwards while she remained completely still. "Did you not tell your mother where you were going?"

The traveler shook her head, "It was safer that they did not know."

"You are the princess," The witch asserted, "You should not be missing court life."

"I am a cursed wanderer," the traveler plunged her fist into the water, her hands reaching the bottom of the basin and remaining there, submerged to nearly her elbows in water. She did not look at the witch, she could not look at the woman who had somehow managed to goad such a response from her. Such a creature was not worth of response or respect – her father had taught her that much. "So long as I am at the court, I cannot be happy. There is a void in me –Gods above, you know it."

The witch smiled then, her fingers snapping as the traveler pulled her hands out of the basin with the final bowl from their meal. It was already clean; the water that had slopped up the front of her apron and had soaked through to her shirt was gone. "I would never bind a child such as you," the witch said with a humorless smile. "I only give my favor to those that have earned it."

Rolling back on her heels, the traveler shook her head. "When you came to me at my birth, my mother said you offered a strange blessing. Your favor and my status as your champion."

"I have since abdicated my throne to prevent your mother from committing regicide," The witch said dismissively. They were now standing very close together, their bodies humming with the magical energy of the witch's home and the forest itself. She truly was the forest mistress, and the witch was full of the power of her home. "It would be a pity for such a _sacrifice_ on my part to go to waste because you are too afraid to accept your destiny as future ruler of this kingdom."

"R-" the traveler began; the witch's name on her lips as she leaned forward.

A single finger, long and cruel and sure to be unrelenting pressed against her lips. The traveler stared at the enticing brown eyes of the woman before her and reached up, fingers shaking, as she touched the woman's hand. "Do not speak my name," the witch warned, as the traveler's fingers intertwined with her own.

The traveler leaned forward, capturing the witch's lips before she could make any more arbitrary rules.

The alarm's shrill peeping pulled Emma bodily from her dream and she groaned loudly. It took more effort than she was willing to admit to roll over and turn off the alarm clock. She'd learned long ago that the best way to mess up her entire day would be to linger, and she let out a low hiss as her bare feet hit the cold wooden floor of her bedroom.

She stumbled towards the bathroom, scowling at the early hour that glowed red on her alarm clock. One of the perks of being deputy was that she got to come a little later in the mornings. As she was a one-woman-show now, her hours were slated to be long and filled with the minutia of tedium.

Emma couldn't stake the feeling of the dream, pressing down all around her. They'd been getting worse, starting to feel more and more real, and they were frankly starting to scare her a little bit. The witch in the dream was starting to haunt Emma's every waking moment. She knew who the witch was supposed to be and she knew that such events could never come to pass between them. Still, the beautiful, bewitching woman with dark eyes that Emma felt like she could drown in was a real person that Emma could reach and touch. She'd probably get slapped for her trouble, but the option was there.

Doctor Hopper had pulled Emma aside when he'd passed her on her way home the previous evening and told her that he was required to offer counseling services to all city employees. She'd laughed in his face and asked him if Henry had put him up to it. He'd been quite earnest when he said that she looked like she could use someone to talk to.

The dreams - oh how the dreams plagued her. Doctor Hopper would send her to a psych ward if he ever heard her theories about them.

She showered and brushed her teeth on auto pilot. As she spat out the last of the foam from her toothpaste she heard the tell-tale sounds of Mary Margaret moving around downstairs. A mug was placed on the kitchen island, the kettle whistled shrilly. Emma usually waited until then to blow dry her hair. She couldn't not, it was too damn cold to go to work with it wet and she had to go see Mr. Gold first.

Emma chewed moodily on the inside of her cheek, staring with unseeing eyes at her reflection in the mirror. In fairy tales, mirrors were powerful things, stealing souls and serving as long-range communication devices. They reflected what was inside, not out. Emma didn't have to believe in fairy tales to know that much, she'd been told that her entire life.

Maybe she wasn't much of a feminist, but she liked to think she tried.

Emma did not know how this visit with gold was going to pan out. She suspected that he would try and figure out if she was truly in the Mayor's pocket and go from there. Emma didn't know how to play the situation, but she knew that she had to at least attempt to play it. Gold was very good at his game, that much was for certain.

Thick socks and boots and leggings under her jeans and Emma was nearly ready to face the biting late-November air. She made her way down the steep steps with her sweater half on, pulling it down to be greeted with Mary Margaret's vaguely horrified face. "One of these days, you're going to trip and kill yourself," her roommate sniffed.

"And then you'll surely be framed for murder," Emma retorted as Mary Margaret smiled shyly at her over her steaming mug of coffee. Her hair was curling, forming cow-licks from where she had slept on it wet. Emma had the same problem, the few years she'd kept her hair cropped short so as to avoid it attracting attention to her when she was just out of prison. "No early morning errand today?"

"I..." Mary Margaret glanced at the clock. It read 7:30, they both had to be at work in fifteen minutes. Mary Margaret's things were already arranged by the door, the woman had a minor case of OCD about preparedness and making sure that she had everything for the day's work. Emma thought it was somewhat endearing, but the morning when Mary Margaret had discovered she'd left a mitten and her favorite scarf in her desk at work had been _hell. _"I think it best if I don't go any more."

There were a million questions that sprang to Emma's mind, but she did not voice them. Mary Margaret would tell her in her own time. They kept little from each other after Emma had told her the story of Henry's conception. She knew that it was about David Nolan - about the Prince Charming that Mary Margaret could never have.

"That's okay," Emma replied, walking to the fridge and pulling out an apple. She set it down next to her keys and paused, staring it thoughtfully. "You'll figure it out."

Mary Margaret sipped her coffee and gave Emma a morose look. "I imagine I will," she sighed and attempted to put a smile on her face. "I'll go to work, I'll come home. I'll even whistle while I do it. I'll be able to move on eventually."

"That'll be the day," Emma laughed, because it was a well-established fact (confirmed by both Ruby and Ashley - the girl that Emma had helped to keep her baby) that Mary Margaret could not whistle. She got red-faced and her cheeks puffed out like a chip monk, but she could not do it.

The glower she received over the coffee mug was well-earned. Emma pulled a can of soup and a bowl down from the cabinets and tucked them both into her work bag, along with her apple. "I'll see you tonight?"

"Definitely," Mary Margaret replied with a smile.

As she walked out the door, she heard Mary Margaret click on the radio. The door closed to the opening strings of a song that had haunted Emma for most of her life.

_"I want somebody to share... Share the rest of my life..." _

She hummed the tune as she cut across the street and headed steadily up the road towards Mr. Gold's shop. He had _requested_ her presence and she would not go against his request. She couldn't go against his request.

The fact that there seemed to be very little argument about her compliance worried Emma. She knew that it was a bad sign, a sign that Gold had some sort of sway over her that was far more absolute than the favor Regina had offered her.

Was this what had caused Regina to stand aside when she had been so angry with Gold? Emma very quickly shoved that thought to the back of her mind because the implications of what it could mean were simply too scary and too much for her to stomach and not-even-eight-am. No, such things were meant to be pondered after at least four cups of coffee and a decent breakfast.

So, after lunch.

Her thoughts and the biting wind swirled around her as Emma rapped three times on the door to Gold's shop. There was a light on deep within the store floor, despite the early hour. She knew that Gold had a house, and old Victorian not too far from the Mayor's house, but it did not surprise her that he rarely seemed to be there. His shop was in the center of town, close to what little action there was in Storybrooke. It made sense that a man who commanded so much power in the city would want to spend much of his time located near to where the action took place.

Emma shivered as she watched Gold make his way through the store, leaning heavily on his cane. She had wondered a few times how his leg had gotten that way – he was about the right age to be a Vietnam vet, Emma guessed. Somehow, though, she couldn't see Gold as a soldier. He lacked a certain something that Emma could not quite put her finger on that would have made him a good soldier. "Ms. Swan," he said, sounding almost legitimately surprised. Emma could feel the lie curl at the base of her neck, the hair there standing up on end. He was a good actor, but not perfect one, it seemed. "I didn't realize you'd come so early."

That, at least, was the truth. She gave him a weak smile. "It's freezing today," she explained. "I still have a lot of paper work to sort through, so I wanted to get to the office and stay there until patrol later on today."

"It is rather chilly, for November." He gave a small shrug and stepped away from the door, allowing Emma passage inside. She stepped in and exhaled gratefully. Her knees were starting to feel numb and she was almost positive she was shivering. "Now then," Mr. Gold began, heading over to the counter. He set his cane down and bent, lifting a box and setting it down with a quiet exhale of air that betrayed how much effort it had actually taken him. "I know that it's not much, but I thought that I'd offer it to you before I do what I normally do and attempt to resell it."

"Why not donate it?" Emma asked, wrinkling her nose. She'd been on the receiving end of donations from the dead before, and she'd always been grateful for their things. "There are people who could use it."

"Ah," He raised a finger and shook his head, "I am a businessman, dearie. I'm not in the business of charity."

Emma frowned, eyes narrowing. "Then why offer his things to me at all?"

It seemed silly to do so. Like they were merely a carrot to get lead her in, and she wasn't buying charity from a man who seemed to thrive on deals and contracts. This felt like the unknown of Storybrooke, that terrifying feeling that Emma got whenever she spent too much time around Regina. She felt as if she was being sucked into something far bigger and more dangerous than her own personally fears and views of the world could handle. It was almost paralyzing her fear, and Emma felt the urge to flee grow strongly with her – Henry and her promise to Regina the only things keeping her rooted here.

She stood stock still, fingers curled around the edge of the box, watching him as he flipped through a magazine near the top of the pile of Graham's things.

"You're smart," He said at length. "I can see why she picked you." He gave her a bland smile. "Pity, though."

"What's a pity?" Emma demanded.

"That she doesn't know who you are," He leaned forward, eyes flashing dangerously. "I was the one who got her your boy, wasn't I? I knew _exactly_ who you were and what you had done when I gave him to her."

She wanted to protest that Regina knew those things too, but the words did not come. She glared at him and folded her arms across her chest. Perhaps it was better to play into his hands, just for the time being. He was a fixer, she'd met a fair number of them in her time. It was all about knowing how to appease him, Emma knew that well. It was easy then, to cock her hip out to one side and dare him to argue against her when she pointed out, "I was a minor, and those records are sealed."

"You're in a position of power in this town, sheriff," he explained, picking up a small metallic statue of a wolf and turning it over appraisingly in his hands. Not for the first time, Emma wondered just who this man was in Henry's story. Regina had said he'd created the curse, but had never specified who he was. Emma resolved that the best solution would be to simply ask Henry. Henry would know and would tell her without a fight. Hopefully. "You'd best wield it wisely."

Emma leaned forward and flashed a mirthless smile. "It is _far_ too early in the morning for threats, Mr. Gold. Please, tell me why you have me here or I will walk out that door and do everything I can to get you run out of this town."

He gave a little bark of laughter. "You do that, dearie." He gestured to the box. "Please, take something, I'd hate to see you without a _memento_ of the good sheriff."

There were a pair of walkie-talkies in the box, and Emma reached without thinking. "These then," she replied. Maybe she could find some use for them if she ever ended up wandering around the woods looking for a deranged sheriff again.

"For your boy?" He asked, his tone suddenly quiet and malice gone.

"What do you care?" Emma demanded, heading towards the door and tugging her hat further down around her ears. "You were the one who brought him to this hellhole." The cold stole her breath as she walked out, Graham's walkie-talkies tucked under her arm and a scowl firmly etched upon her face.

Had she bothered to turn, she would have seen a smile curling across Mr. Gold's face as he set the box of the former sheriff's things down onto the floor next to the counter. Things were getting interesting in Storybrooke, it seemed.

Interesting indeed, dearie.

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Emma received a text from the Mayor on her lunch hour, requesting that she please collect Henry from school on her way back from patrol and watch him until six. Apparently the Mayor, as Emma discovered a few irritated texts from Regina later, had a great deal of paperwork that she had been unable to get to the previous day because some child had been using her work computer to Google facts about bears.

(She had snorted about that one and had just barely resisted asking how she was ever going to explain all the leather daddy pictures that now were cached on her computer. Barely being the key word there because oh, it was tempting.)

The day dragged a little bit, Emma staring at Graham's walkie-talkies as they sat on the desk before her. They were a stark reminder of what she did not know. Her mind was clouded, distracted as she bundled back up to head out on patrol and to pick up Henry.

Henry met her at the curb when she pulled up at close to three-fifteen that afternoon. She was a few minutes late, held up with a public intoxication citation and a stern promise to the gentleman in question that next time he'd be spending his evening in the station's lone jail cell should he do it again.

"Why are you picking me up?" Henry demanded, climbing into the warm cruiser and shivering a little bit as the warm air that was blasting from the heaters hit his cheeks. Emma tried not to wince as he raised the back of a mittened hand to rub at the snot that had accumulated at the end of his nose. Maine was the absolute worst in the winter, and Emma was not at all surprised that Henry's nose was running like crazy as the temperature around him changed rapidly.

Emma reached behind her and grabbed a box of tissues and pressed them into Henry's hands, eyes on the road as she moved to turn out into traffic. "Your mom needed her computer," she explained, signaling and maneuvering herself successfully through the throngs of dated mini-vans and sedans as parents picked their children up for the evening. "You're to write out your report by hand and to make up for it she'll help you type it tonight."

Emma knew that it was a little bit of a stretch to believe that Regina would truly type up her child's report without doctoring it at all. "Your mom do that lots for you, kid?" she asked as Henry blew his nose and peered at the tissue with interest. "Gross!" Emma added, swatting at his hand.

Little boys were the _worst._

"Yeah," Henry explained, his tone lighter than Emma would expect, given who they were discussing. It only served to further solidify Emma's theory that Henry did indeed love his mother. She was distant and not entirely emotionally available, that much was a given, but there was love between the pair of them that could not be mistaken. Emma was glad of that, she hated to think that Regina was a sociopath or something close to it. Curse or no curse, she had to try and see what was best in everyone – it was her purpose in life to save them all, it seemed.

"She's never really gotten used to computers and we don't have one at home so when I need to do reports, I either use hers if she's not too busy at work or write it out by hand and she'll type it up for me." He turned to look at Emma, fingers curling around his school bag where Emma was positive his book was.

"You're lucky," Emma admitted, eyes fixed on the road ahead of her. If she looked at Henry, her face was sure to crumble. She would have killed for someone - anyone - who would have helped her find interest in her school work. She'd spent half of her high school career in detention, forced to do her school work because she honestly had no other choice. She hated it, hated how she was never given an option to grow to love learning as much as Henry clearly did. "I woulda killed for something like that when I was your age."

"What?" Henry asked, as Emma turned towards the station.

Emma sighed, her gloved hands on the steering wheel slipping as she spun the wheel. "A mom who cared," she explained as she pulled into the sheriff's parking space. She was still so new to this whole parent thing, and she wasn't about to bring up the walking up hill in the snow both ways to school. Fuck that, she wasn't an old lady just yet - and she could say her piece without Henry thinking that of her.

His silence was a testament to the truth in her words, Emma thought. There was no other way around it really. Henry was a child who saw things the way that all children see things - black and white and absolute.

As they both clambered from the car and hurried into the station, Emma added, "How about this, Henry, I have to return you for dinner at six. You finish your report by five and we'll talk about Operation Cobra some."

His eyes grew wide and excited, "Really?"

Emma nodded, pulling off her gloves and ruffling his hair. He raised his hand and tried to bat her hand away, instead resorting to sticking his tongue out at her as she smoothed it back into place. "I want you to teach me about how magic works in your book."

He settled down at Emma's old desk and Emma found herself lingering in the doorway. Watching him sit there was forcing her to accept for the first time that this was her show now. Graham was gone and in the ground, Regina had arranged a lovely service and Emma had dared to dress in the official sheriff's uniform for the first time to attend the funeral.

Half the town had turned out and Emma had found herself standing with her jaw set and resolute beside the man who had been one of the first to welcome her to Storybrooke.

Emma shook herself, trying to force the emotions away. She did not want to appear weak in front of Henry. He already saw her as a hero that she did not think she was ready to be. The stack of paperwork she had yet to process for the day was still growing on her desk and she found herself scowling at it trying to will it smaller.

With a long-suffering sigh, Emma switched on her computer monitor and got to entering information into the city's documentation system. The thing was straight out of the eighties as it was, and time groaned slowly on.

At five fifteen Henry set down his pencil and pushed his notes and printouts away and pulled the book from deep within his bag. "DO you want me to read your report before you give it to your mom?" Emma asked, not sure if peer review was something that Regina supported or frowned upon. "You know - check if to GUMs and stuff."

Henry inclined his head to the side, "Gums?"

What the hell was Mary Margaret teaching him in that class? Emma scowled, "Grammar, usage and mechanics." She raised her eyebrows, "You know, those things that you should be getting mostly correct by your age?"

"My mom will do it," Henry replied. "She likes to help me make corrections once it's on the computer. She thinks it's smarter, but when I was little she would make me rewrite things."

"Oh," Emma supposed that it would be easier to do then, in the long run. "Okay, that actually makes more sense."

"Thanks for the offer," Henry smiled and Emma found herself grinning back at him. He was a good kid, actually tried to do his school work, unlike Emma at his age. He wasn't interesting in stealing the older kid's bikes and climbing trees to get away from life, her foster families, everything really.

He hopped up into her lap and propped the book open against Emma's desk. "Okay," he said, opening to the section about how the curse was cast. There was a picture of some of the Evil Queen's cronies, gathered around a fire pit full of purplish-black smoke. "What do you want to know about magic?"

She knew that she really should be asking Regina. Henry was just a kid, what could he possibly know about this stuff? But she wanted at least a neutral observer to explain it to her.

The questions that she had about magic did not come from the place where Regina would answer willingly. She had questions about how exactly magic worked in the fairy tale world of Henry's book. Regina had implied that there was no magic in this world, but that there were still some protections and spells that could work. She was able to produce the sword, after all. And why was that?

"Is it true that the Evil Queen-" Emma began.

"My mom," Henry interjected.

"The _Evil Queen_," Emma insisted forcefully, "Cursed everyone she'd ever met to this world knowingly?"

Henry turned a few pages and pointed to a specific passage. "Yeah," he tapped the page and Emma leaned forward to read a description of the Evil Queen saying some very Regina-like things and announcing that the world that she was cursing Snow White and the rest of the denizens of the Enchanted Forest to had no magic at all. She'd called it terrible. "Why do you ask?"

"If the Evil Queen is a witch and very good at magic, why would she send herself to a place where she would have none of it?" Emma asked. She reached around Henry and flipped the book back a few pages. Magic was the sort of thing that was ruled by arbitrary concepts and rules. She knew this was why true love's kiss could break any curse – she'd learned that from the Disney version of Snow White when she was five. From what she could gather, Disney, at least, had gotten that little detail correct. "The price that she paid was..."

"She killed her father." Henry's tone was dark and his expression grim. "She didn't even care that she was killing him, after all that he'd done for her."

"How do you know?" Emma asked, resting her chin on Henry's shoulder as they both stared at the passage before them. The Evil Queen had gone to Rumplestiltskin to ask why the curse had not worked when she'd scarified her favorite horse. Emma hadn't known that the Evil Queen had liked horses, and filed that information away to ask Regina about later.

His lips drew up into a thin line, much like the expression that Regina often got when Emma was getting on her nerves. Or breathing too loudly, or asking too many questions. He turned a few pages back in the book, pausing at a story about what looked suspiciously like the Mad Hatter, before going back further. "I just do," he announced finally, placing two hands with fingers spread wide across the book and sighing. "It's a feeling."

Emma pulled his hand away, looking at the picture he was partially covering up, an image of a little girl sobbing into her father's shoulder. "I think she loved him very much," Emma explained. "Maybe that's why the curse worked; because it hurt her so much to do what had to be done to make it work."

"But that's terrible!" Henry protested. He looked horrified that Emma could even suggest such a thing. "How could you kill your mom or your dad?"

"Henry," Emma said seriously. She fixed her eyes straight ahead and stared hard at that point on the wall, willing herself to not shake or waver as she spoke. "When you told me that I was the savior of this town, meant to break the curse, how did you think that the curse would end?"

He stilled in her lap, and Emma wrapped her arms around him as tight as she could. "I don't know." His admission came quietly, and Emma knew that the realization of what Emma was getting at could not be far behind. "I thought that you'd come in and be a hero – kill the evil."

"I don't want to kill your mom," Emma said quietly. "I don't think you want me to do it either."

"No..." Henry said quietly. "No I don't."

"Maybe…" Emma began, not wanting this conversation to end on a poor note. "Maybe the role of the White Knight isn't to save the people who are cursed – maybe it's to save everyone. Even the Evil Queen."

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The next time Emma found herself truly alone with Regina was several days later. Henry had gone with David Nolan to help him feed the animals at the shelter, happily chattering away about man things that Emma didn't pretend to understand or get. Regina seemed to like David a lot more than Mary Margaret, which was interesting in and of itself, given how he was (if the curse was to be believed) Emma's father.

"They seem happy," Emma commented. Her hands were shoved in the back pockets and she felt almost intruding as Regina retreated back into her study, settling down on the couch there and staring at her hands. "Do you approve of them being close?"

Regina's brow furrowed and Emma watched as the woman stared down at her hands. It was strange to see Regina, who was usually so put together, like this. Her movements were somehow uncertain and Emma could tell that she was worried. Graham's death had clearly affected her, drawing her deeper within herself and making the Mayor even less willing to answer Emma's questions. "Hardly," she said at length, drawing her gaze up to focus on Emma with slightly unseeing eyes. "His relationship with David Nolan is no doubt instilling in him the ideas that relationships are just an inconsequential element and do not require _commitment._"

Emma felt her eyes widen and she leaned forward, finally allowing herself to fully enter the room. "I see you ah…" she trailed off, running her hand through her hair and looking sheepishly at Regina. "Know about that."

The look she received suggested that the Mayor thought considerably less of Emma for letting it go unmentioned. The Mayor's face contorted into a mix of emotions so complex that they took an extra moment to be drawn back up and under Regina's usual expression of superiority and contempt.

"This is my town, dear," Regina said, sitting back and letting her arms rest across the back of the couch. Emma thought she looked every bit the queen she was in that moment, and swallowed, trying to suppress the urge to drop to her knees before her Queen. "There is very little that goes on here that I do not know about."

That simply would not do. She could not allow Regina to think her somehow inferior because of whatever the fuck having her favor meant. Emma knew that there was a lot more going on here than what met the eye. She was all about seeing deeper meanings in things, but Regina was a tough nut to crack. She was all locked up within herself, and Emma would not allow the Queen the luxury of knowing what Emma was thinking when Emma was still struggling to discern what was going on behind those dark eyes and closed-off expression.

"Can I ask you something?" Emma asked, moving to sit at the opposite end of the couch and squaring her feet as best she could. Her entire body was already on the defensive and she hated that she had yet to even choke the words out and already her body was screaming at her 'no.' It was stupid and foolish.

Regina's expression softened. "You already have," she offered.

"I meant-" Emma began.

"Please, Ms. Swan," Regina chuckled, "Your lack of diction aside, I am willing to answer your questions – within reason."

Emma took a deep breath and asked the one question that had been burning on the periphery of her mind for far longer than she cared to recall. "For as long as I can remember, I've had these dreams," She began, looking over at Regina with a small smile. "I'm a traveler, always. When I was younger I was as I appear in the dreams now. I'm searching for something across a fantastic realm on a horse that belongs to the man who I know in the dreams to be my father."

Regina's eyes narrowed and she nodded for Emma to continue.

"When I came to Storybrooke I had had one of these dreams. I usually took them as a sign to move on from wherever I was staying, never really gave them much thought until the," she gestured in the general direction of Regina's chest, "sword and stuff."

"Tell me," Regina began, leaning forward and looking far more interested than a normal person should be regarding fantastic potentially prophetic dreams. "Did you dream of anything else?"

"In my dreams I met a little boy in a clearing in the forest. The clearing stank of magic, the sort of sulfur smell mixed with rosemary-"

"And dill," Regina finished and Emma stared up at her with confusion clearly written across her face. "I'm a _witch_, Ms. Swan," Regina pointed out. "I know better than most how magic smells."

Emma threw up her hands, "Look, I just wanted you to know that I'm dreaming about the world that Henry's book is based out of. You're in the dreams, and they seem to be trying to tell me something, I don't know what," she glared at Regina. "Please, don't mock me just because I'm telling you them as I've experienced them. Unlike you, I didn't grow up around magic."

"I didn't," Regina interjected quietly. Emma could see a flicker of hurt cross her face and she leaned forward, fingers brushing up against Regina's thigh. "Grow up around magic. Not entirely."

There was so much hurt and confusion in Regina's voice that Emma withdrew her hand and scooted a little bit further away from the Mayor. Personal space, she'd learned, was prime real estate when it came to Regina Mills, and Emma was determined to give it to her as best she could. "My childhood wasn't so charmed either," Emma offered.

"I suppose you think that my fault?" Regina asked in that same quiet tone that set Emma on edge. She couldn't place a finger on why it bothered her so much, but she supposed it was because it was the tone of a woman scorned, rather than that of pure evil. Henry's notion of his mother was that she was a purely black character in a world of black and white. Emma had been trying to make him see the shades of grey as best she could, but they did not come easily, that much was certain.

Emma shrugged. "How could I?" She asked, because when she truly thought about it, it was not Regina's fault. Regina created her initial life circumstances; she did not create the subsequent ones. "All I could be mad at you for was taking me away from my parents – but they're the ones – according to the story anyway – that sent me away." She gave a little shrug and added, "It is nice, dreaming about having a loving family." She scowled, thinking of how the traveler in her dreams always was quick to point out that her parents were not exactly the most kind and forgiving of parents. "Only I get the sense they did not appreciate my wanderlust."

Regina gave a short bark of laughter. "Such is the problem of such realms," she explained, her lips twisting into an almost friendly smile. "They do not allow for those who do not adhere to social mores to move outside of them."

"Hey, I think that Snow White was pretty bad ass," Emma protested. She had to admit, upon finally getting Henry to tell her the specifics of Snow White's epic quest and adventures, that her mother hand lived damn dangerously and was the sort of badass that would make even Xena jealous.

(Well, maybe not _Xena…)_

The Mayor's shoulders hunched, "Snow did what she needed to out of necessity."

"Because of you?" Emma asked.

"Yes, dear," the Mayor's lips twisted into a sneer and her expression hardened into something unpleasant and alien on Regina's face. Emma hated seeing her like that, full of hatred and contempt for the world at large. "Because of me." She leaned forward then, fingers reaching out to touch Emma's face. Her fingers burned as they lay on Emma's cheek, lingering just so to make Emma almost flinch at the intensity hidden there. "Your dreams are further proof of the connection between us. Should you ever actually succeed in breaking this curse, your mother, I'm sure, will be _thrilled_ to find you in my thrall."

"I am not in your thrall," Emma folded her arms and jerked her chin away from Regina's hand. "I am no one's puppet."

"I think," Regina said coldly, rising to her feet and giving Emma a look that made her feel almost sick to her stomach, "That you will find that you are." Regina folded her arms across her chest and looked down at Emma, still seated as she was on the very edge of the couch. Her fingers rose and fell, one by one, onto her forearm as Regina contemplated Emma. "Bow before your queen," she hissed.

Emma's knees seized up from under her and she pitched forward, shins and kneecaps connecting harshly with the hardwood floor of the Mayor's study. Her palms splayed wide across the floor as she rested on all fours, pushing herself upwards as defiantly as possible. Emma could feel her jaw jutting out proudly and her expression turning haughty. "I bow to no one," she said, shakily rising to one knee. "I will give my life for you, for anyone in this town, Majesty. But do not expect me to bow."

"You're on your knees," Regina pointed out snidely, folding her arms and looking smug as all get out doing so. "You will submit to my will."

"Just as you are a pawn to Gold?" Emma demanded, shoving herself to her feet and taking a step forward. "I heard him – when you were talking to him after Graham died. He told you to back off and you did. What the hell does he have over you to make it so that he can get whatever he wants from you?"

The Mayor's eyes flashed dangerously and she stared at Emma as Emma dared to take yet another step forward. "I don't know what you're talking about," Regina said quickly and the lie settled heavily over Emma. Maybe Regina had not believed her when she had told Henry that it was her super power. She could always tell when she was being lied to – she'd spent her entire childhood living out that lie, after all.

Emma's lips twitched, pitching upwards into a self-assured smile as she placed her hands on her hips and said in her most 'this is bullshit' tone, "I think you do." The Mayor seemed to crumple, being caught in her lie, and Emma knew that this was the moment where she had to push her advantage. "He said please and you just let him go."

Regina threw up her hands, turning and stalking away from Emma to stand over by the window. Emma could see the troubled and conflicted look on her face as she breathed out, "Those are the rules."

The _rules?_ What the hell sort of rules were those? Emma bit at the inside of her cheek and glared at Regina. The low light of the room and the growing darkness outside were making the Mayor's eyes almost shine in the darkness, gleaming with a sort of malicious intent that made Emma feel sick to her stomach. The strangest thing was that she didn't think that the evil look and anger were directed at her, but at the man who had made the rules in the first place.

Still, it begged the question, and Emma couldn't help but ask, "Are they supposed to apply to me? To Henry?"

"I-" Regina opened her mouth, realization dawning in the first clear emotion that Emma had seen all day across her face. Her eyes were wide and fearful and Emma wanted nothing more than to walk across the room and put her arms around this woman she'd come to care about.

She couldn't do it. Not yet.

They were in this for the long haul, now. Emma's soul had been committed before she could even consent to it. She would be breaking this curse, that much she knew for certain. She'd break the curse and save _everyone_ no matter what the cost.

She scoffed, peering over at the back of Regina's head. "Now who's the pawn?"

Regina seemed to stiffen, her back becoming ramrod straight as her voice took a cold tone, "Leave."

"No." Emma crossed her arms across her chest and cocked her hip out at what she hoped was a defiant angle. She was daring Regina into action here, wondering what she'd do if pushed too far.

"Ms. Swan, I may not have magic here, but I am still your queen and you _will_ respect my wishes," Regina stepped away from the window, crossing to stand near Emma. They were facing opposite directions, their bodies diametrically opposed the way that they were as people. They wanted different things out of this union and the agreement between them was hardly fair.

Regina's fingers were warm on Emma's check, patting her there with a bizarrely maternal expression crossing over her face. Her eyes softened and her smile did not seem quite so calculating. Truth be told, it was that smile, more so than anything else that Regina had ever done or said to her, that made her want to run as far away from this place as she could possibly arrange. "Go away Baby Charming, these are war games, not cops and robbers."

"I- I have to be here, for you." The words sounded clunky and awkward, out of place for what she was offering Regina. The Mayor had made her this way, forced her into this role of protector and savior.

"You are a fool then, and playing into his hands," Regina said, her tone sounding almost sad at the fact.

Something snapped in Emma then, and she stepped forward, fingers closing around Regina's shoulder and yanking them around so that they were facing each other. Regina's eyes were narrowed and her nose was flaring dangerously – almost like a bull preparing to charge. Emma knew that she should be careful, and not go too far, but the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, each word proof positive that she might have finally figured this shit out. "Like you did? Killing your only loving relative to trap yourself alone in this hell-hole?" She scowled, her expression haughty as she raised an eyebrow at the fury blossoming across Regina's face. "Tell me; was it easy for you to stick a knife into dear old _dad?_"

"You go _far_ beyond your place," The Queen hissed, her fingers connecting with Emma's cheek as she lashed out, nails biting into the soft flesh at Emma's cheek. The sting of Regina's ring and nails cut harshly into her cheek. "I should have your head."

"Sorry lady," Emma said, fingers on her cheek. There was defiance in her every move now, and she pressed her luck further. She leaned in towards Regina and growled, "This is America. We don't believe in beheading people just because they point out the truth to us."

The hand that had slapped her rose to strike again, and Regina hissed, "Get out." Emma stood resolute before her, and she added, desperation clear in her voice. "I am your Queen."

Emma shook her head, "I can't do that," she explained. She'd said what she had to do to get Regina to see that most of the secrets were already known between them. There was no point trying to hide these things from each other, because honesty was the only policy that was going to keep them alive if Mr. Gold and whomever else Regina had made an enemy of would be coming for them. "I am the savior and when I tell you that I want to do this together, I mean it."

She hadn't realized it until that moment, but she had bought into the curse wholeheartedly. There were so many obstacles to tackle, huge mental barriers that she had to force herself to work around. She had come from the world where Regina had been born, fucking Narnia or some shit. She had a million questions, but they didn't matter right now.

Her fingers slid up Regina's arm to cup under her chin, forcing her eyes up. Emma damn near flinched at the maelstrom of emotions that surged in the depths of Regina's eyes. She had not anticipated them being there, because Henry had said that the Queen had given up her ability to feel when she cast the curse. The pain she saw there was very real, and incredibly terrifying. "Regina, come on," Emma whispered, fingers lingering on Regina's face.

"I-" Regina began, brow furrowing a little bit in what Emma could only place as uncertainty. There was a moment of hesitance, before Emma found herself shoved up against the wall of Regina's study and the Mayor pressing her lips against Emma's. There was desperation in that moment, and Emma found herself too surprised to react, her arms sagging against their grip on Regina's shoulders as she let herself be kissed with ferocity that she'd never experienced before.

It had never felt like _this_ before.

Emma's eyes fluttered closed and she raised her hands to tangle in Regina's hair, the thought occurring to her before her mind was too far gone that maybe this was what it meant to have the Queen's favor.

db

_Now, let's get cooking._

_This has never been my strong suit._

The spell that Rumplestiltskin gave the Evil Queen was actually fairly simple, all things considered. He thought of it as his final masterpiece, the one thing that he had gotten right in all of his (many) years. The incantation was but four lines, the price was steep for such an act, and the man behind it waited in breathless anticipation for the spell to be cast.

He could never pay such a price; otherwise he would have cast the spell long ago. The one he loved most was gone from this world.

**List of ingredients to cast an evil spell:**

-heart of what you love most

-tails of three young, pregnant hares

-fyendfire seeds

-beanstalk leaves – fresh, not found

-a strand of hair from your closest enemy

-and three from your greatest ally

-Toenail clippings of a toad

-eye of a bear

-Three drops blood thine own.

_Funny, the queen put her hair in twice._

_Yes, I was wondering about why she did that._

_Who knows with those magic users anyway?_

* * *

You guys are super duper awesome, thank you so much for your kind reviews!

The song that comes on the radio is Depeche Mode's Somebody. it's a great song by a great band and you should all listen to them. One thing that always bothers me in fanfic is when people give characters super indie-hipster taste in music, so I tried to pick a song that would have been popular when Emma was young so that a] she recognized it and b] would help to illustrate how Storybrooke was dated.

I actually sat down and planned out the rest of the fanfic! Go me. Looking at maybe 14 or so parts?

Next: The Dreams and The Meaning


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine – The Dreams and the Meaning**

In the growing night, the traveler curled on a rug before the dying embers of the fire and felt the weariness in her bones give way to peace. Sleep did not become her lifestyle. She was used to sleeping on her horse, or under the low hanging boughs of trees. The witch had offered to share her bed, but the traveler had shaken her head no. Tonight was not the night for such pleasures. Such a time would come later, she was sure.

Her bones ached, her body was so weary, and the traveler let herself drift off towards the dream world. The specters of her childhood dreams a long-since forgotten memory.

That night, the traveler dreamed of her childhood home. Deep within the confines of her childhood room there was wardrobe that her parents sometimes would joke lead to another realm. It had been carved by the master woodcarver and his son as a gift at her birth.

Many times, the traveler dreamed of this wardrobe. In this world, wardrobes were like anything else, places to put things and forget them. They were oubliettes in all but name, a forgetting place. The traveler felt the wardrobe pull her in and lock her away in a place where her wanderings would forever be impossible. She was aimless, wandering without a destination there.

Perhaps it was her curse, that kept her grounded in these dreams, she was aimless but driven to a destination she would never know.

It was an uneasy sleep that the traveler had that night, curled in the warm heat under a pile of furs that reminded her that place she had never been quite able to call home.

The traveler felt the wardrobe draw her in again this time, but something gave her pause, standing at its arched doors. Her sword was in her hand and her eyes were straining in the darkness of the room before her.

Dust filled the air, catching on the sliver of moonlight that fills the room. It cast the traveler's face into shadow, hair falling down into her eyes almost luminescent in that half-light. Her sword felt heavy in her hands as she raised it to her defense, her feet sliding silently into a combat stance.

Cool light filled the room and the traveler squeezed her eyes shut for as long as she dared, forcing herself to adjust to the light.

A woman stood before her then, a woman much like herself.

The traveler took a step forward, sword clasped in two hand as she held it at the ready. "Who are you," she demanded. Her voice a low hiss in the silent room and her hands were shaking as she tried to hold her sword steady.

The woman before her stared down at her hands, and then up at the traveler. Her hands flew to her mouth and she allowed a single, reverent finger, to touch her lips. "She..." the woman began.

The compass that the traveler had always possessed - her mother was convinced it was part of the curse itself - floated before them, and the woman reached out to grab it before the traveler's hand could reach it.

"That is mine," the traveler growled, leveling her sword at the woman's throat and lunging.

They woke as one, grasping at their throats and struggling to breathe.

db

Emma spent a good portion of the morning with her head cradled in her hands, cursing her terrible decision making skills. Granted, the headache that she'd woken up with and the crick in her neck were maddening as well. She absolutely, positively, could not believe what had happened at Regina's house the night before. Could not. Refused. Nada. Not happening.

She wasn't used to being the passive one in a moment of passion. She wasn't used to doing a lot of things that she found herself doing these days, but having the mother of her goddamn son shove her up against the wall and kiss her like the world was about to goddamn end was enough to make Emma want to throw in the towel and reason all together.

"You look like shit," Ruby commented, refilling Emma's coffee mug and stealing a cold fry off of her plate. Emma lifted her head up from her arms and blinked at Ruby.

Ruby chewed her stolen fry and cocked her hip to one side. "You wanna talk about it?"

Emma let her head fall back into her arms and shook her head. "I can't," she muttered into the crook of her elbow. Her sweater was scratchy and she really did want to talk to someone about it. She had phrased that well, honestly. The situation was just messed up and Ruby didn't deserve to have it saddled on her.

"Can't or won't?" Emma sighed and sat up properly to meet Ruby's darkly made-up eyes and red highlights with a frustrated noise growing in the back of her throat.

"I can't, Ruby," She was failing and she knew it. Ruby did to, judging from the appraising look Emma found herself on the receiving end of.

Emma sighed, sitting up and picking up her coffee mug. She took a grateful sip and tried to away the dreams and the events of the previous day. Ruby gave her an odd look and turned to leave, she apparently knew a dismissal without having to actually be dismissed.

Despite her best efforts, Emma could not be that person. She set her coffee down and reached out. Her fingers connected with Ruby's free elbow. "Ruby," she said, her voice firm. "Have you ever done something that you're so sure is wrong, but feels right?"

Ruby grinned at her. "All the time, Em," she laughed. "All the time."

Emma had never really had friends before. There had been foster brothers and sisters who were more intent on taking what she had, rather than being her friend. Those had been peers, as had the children at school. She'd never stayed in one place long enough to actually develop the sort of friendships she found herself forging in Storybrooke. Emma was honestly quite taken aback by how much she wanted to be a part of these people's lives.

It was easy, she reasoned, to dwell on her own shortcomings and not think about the fact that she'd integrated so seamlessly into this collection of oddball denizens of Maine.

Perhaps the easier option was not to fight it. this was her tactic with Regina - to the best of her ability anyway - and it had been working pretty well until the previous evening. Emma felt her cheeks color as she again allowed her mind to drift back to what had happened then to change everything.

She knew that she couldn't dwell on this in front of someone like Ruby, who could sniff out juicy gossip a mile away. At least Ruby tended to keep the gossip to herself once she learned it. That made her a bit better than most of the people in this town. Small towns, Emma reasoned, all suffered from that predilection. There was so little going on that even the smallest and mundane of circumstances became big time news. _The Mirror_ was proof enough of that.

"You didn't piss off the Mayor again?" Ruby asked, settling down at the counter next to Emma.

Emma shook her head, "More like she did something I had not... anticipated her doing."

There was an almost canine quality to how Ruby's eyes flashed at that, realization dawning on her face as she reached forward. Her fingers closed around Emma's shoulder and she pulled them as close as she dared. Mrs. Lucas was sitting at the end of the counter filling out some sort of complicated-looking form. "Did she threaten you?" Ruby hissed. "After she..."

Emma buried her head in her hands. This was the most truly groan-worthy moment of her already groan-worthy day. Ruby being able to read through her like she wasn't even trying to hide what had happened made it even worse. She sighed, because she really couldn't hide it any more than she could pretend to hide it. "Made a pass at me? Yeah. She did."

The threat had come in the form of a snapped command in a strangled voice. Emma had been dismissed and she understood that that was all that she could do in such a situation. The power of whatever bond that the pair of them shared had forced Emma to obey.

That, unfortunately, had not been before Emma had recovered from her shock and had started responding to the kiss. Regina felt good against her, good and right. The sort of thing that Emma knew would lead to mornings and days and weeks. In the moment of that kiss, she had seen a future blossom out before her.

It was that future that Emma found herself wanting now. She could have Regina, and she could have Henry, she could have some semblance of a family for the first time in her life.

But the curse, the curse was always there. The knowledge that Regina was certainly not the good person Emma wanted her to be lurked just below the moment of passion that they'd shared.

Ruby flashed an encouraging smile as she stood up. "Well," she announced, maybe a little too loudly for Emma's taste, "I hope that you don't take that threat to be how it has to be."

"Oh?" Emma raised an eyebrow.

"I think you two are good for each other," Ruby added with a conspiratorial wink. "I'll be back with your check in a sec."

Maybe encouragement was really all that she needed. Emma paid for her coffee and asked for half a Ruben and a salad and the Mayor's usual coffee order to be added to her check. She had an appointment, after all.

Under Ruby's approving gaze, Emma left the diner and headed towards the town hall. The lunch hour was drawing to a close, but she'd started to see a pattern in how Regina worked. She threw herself behind her projects, working long hours and neglecting her personal needs.

The brown paper bag swung from her fingers as Emma made her way through the freezing cold street. Winter in Maine wasn't anything to sniff at, and it made Emma long for Tallahassee or even Boston. At least in Boston the temperatures had the decency to pretend that they were reasonable, most of the time. The wind coming in off the harbor was far harsher here than it was in Boston, and it had a wintry chill to it that froze Emma to her bones.

She was damn near shaking, her fingers numb around the coffee cup by the time she pushed the door open to the executive wing of the city offices. She paused for a moment to throw away the extra cup that Ruby had given her to help keep the coffee warm. It felt good here, but her fingers were shooting pain as they warmed in the hallway.

Regina's secretary was a stony-faced woman that frankly terrified Emma. She took one look at the bag in Emma's hands, however, and nodded towards the door. "Go ahead, Sheriff," she said, fingers clicking away over her keyboard. "She's holed up in there with some sort of report she's got to get into Augusta and hasn't come out all morning."

Emma had no idea how small town government worked. She figured that whatever she'd managed to catch on Parks and Recreation probably was not all that accurate a picture of how things really worked. She bit her lip and knocked before pushing the door open.

The office was silent, save for the sound of papers rustling as the Mayor worked her way through something incredibly mundane and boring looking. "Do you usually hide under a bunch of paper work when you don't want to deal with the consequences of your actions?"

Regina looked up sharply, her hair fluttering for just a moment before falling back into perfect place. "I was under the impression that our conversation last night had made my wishes very clear, Ms. Swan."

Emma held out the coffee, peering at the long strings of numbers on the paperwork before Regina with frown. Regina had said to get out and Emma had gone home, her head full of conflicted thoughts and the press of Regina's body against her. She had fallen into a fitful sleep and her dreams had not been pleasant.

She knew she was right when Regina's fingers brushed up against her own as the Mayor gratefully took the coffee. "I've never been much for following directions," Emma quipped, settling down across from Regina in one of the stiff-backed chairs that Emma was positive were placed there because they were incredibly uncomfortable.

"I see Ms. Lucas is as accommodating and meddlesome as ever," Regina commented, sipping the coffee gratefully. She stared at Emma, her expression closed off and not entirely unreadable. There was some trepidation there, hidden just beneath the tired-looking eyes. "I would have thought you to be half-way to Boston by now."

And she would have been. This was the sort of situation that Emma was never really good at. She knew that she had to stay because she couldn't leave. Too much was happening in Storybrooke for her to not linger.

Emma found herself shrugging, setting the bag from the diner gingerly on the edge of Regina's desk and sitting as far back as she could in the uncomfortable chair. "I shouldn't have said what I said," Emma confessed. It wasn't an apology, because she'd never asked for any of this. She did not want to be the one to apologize, but she'd gone for the kill shot when one hadn't really been needed.

"I shouldn't have done what I did," Regina muttered into the coffee cup.

"I didn't mind," Emma replied warily, not daring to look at the Mayor as she confessed this fact. She hadn't minded any of it, not really. Her cheek was still tender from the slap she'd earned, but she had deserved it. She'd gone too far and they'd both known it.

Silence fell over the room, the door was firmly shut and the only sound were the pipes creaking as the ancient radiator in the corner filled with water and began to hiss quietly. The wide bay window behind Regina's desk bathed them both in light as the sun's weak rays barely warmed the window enough to melt the frost that had accumulated over the night.

Emma dared herself to look at Regina exactly three times before she finally found herself raising her gaze. Her cheeks felt as though they were on fire and Emma found herself again forcing herself to remember that this, frankly, stunning woman before her was the cause of much of her suffering in life.

She could blame her parents - ignorant of her circumstances as she was. She was the child of two fairy tale characters, her life was supposed to be charmed and Regina had taken that all away.

But that was not truly the case. She had a theory about this curse that Henry was so positive his mother had cast, and every interaction she'd had with certain parties seemed to point to her theory being correct. She had to get to the bottom of what Gold wanted before she willingly allowed herself to think of Regina as anything other than Henry's mother.

"You assume much, Ms. Swan," Regina exhaled and leaned back in her chair. "Why would you think that I would want to do such a thing again?"

Emma shrugged. "I know passion," she began. She was talking out of her ass, she really was. "I know how to fake it like the best of them. That was organic, Regina. It felt real and good and I wanted more of it." She leveled her gaze at Regina, "I think you did too."

"And why would I allow such a thing to happen?" Regina asked. Her voice was quiet, dwarfed by the imposing window behind her.

Emma stood up, hands pressing into her knees as she pushed herself to her feet. She stood there for a minute as she unearthed her gloves from her jacket pocket. "Because that, as far as I can gather, is what it means to have the queen's favor."

_Chew on that, Your Majesty_ Emma thought to herself, walking out the door leaving the stunned Mayor behind her.

She had some investigation of her own to do.

db

With the book that Emma found herself needing to take a closer look at came Henry and a million and one questions. Emma sat him down across the kitchen island from herself as she pulled out the ingredients to make brownies. She was craving chocolate, feeling vaguely like she'd somehow fucked up along the way.

The problem was that she had absolutely no idea where to look for the answers. Regina was a closed book about the backstory that Emma so desperately needed. Emma guessed that Henry might be able to provide some of the answers – in his black and white view of how things were – but it would not be enough. She had to know what Regina's motivation was for making her the knight who would save the queen above all else.

It seemed like they were all wearing multiple hats.

"So what did you want to talk about?" Henry asked, kicking his feet against the kitchen island and watching Emma with curious eyes. "And can you put chocolate chips in?"

"Sure," Emma agreed, bending and rummaging for the _pam_ so that she could grease the brownie pan she'd found buried at the back of the kitchen cupboard. Mary Margaret put stuff in the weirdest places. She pushed aside some cans of soup that looked about as ancient as some of the paintwork in the apartment and made a triumphant noise as she found the yellow canister. "I wanted to talk to you about some of the other stories in the book – before the Evil Queen."

Henry wrinkled his nose, but bent and tugged his backpack up and into his lap. He rummaged for a moment before pulling the book out and setting it heavily on the table. "What do you want to know," he asked, his attention turning to a table of contents that Emma had not noticed on her first perusal of its contents.

Emma set the pam down on the countertop and walked around to peer at the story titles. None of them were ones that she recognized from her own childhood, or from the anthology of Grimm's fairy tales that she'd found tucked inside one of the boxes of her things that had arrived a few days ago. Here there were stories of a land ravaged by war and a being that had made a pact with the devil to stop them. She ran her finger down the titles and tapped them, "What are these ones about?"

It was strange to see the same mildly pensive look on Henry's face that often crossed her own face as he thought was still unnerving. Emma had given up on looking for the similarities between the two of them. She'd found that the more she saw the less she wanted to see. It was too much, this whole thing was too much, and now there were other complications.

"They're about a spinner," Henry says at length, as if trying to muddle through some of the details himself as he told her. "He has a son that he doesn't want to go to war, so he tries to save the son in any way that he can."

That sounded familiar. Emma knew how Henry had found himself at the center of this story without even meaning for it to happen. She knew that he was struggling with trying to find his place in the story just as much as she was. "Did he succeed?" Emma asked. She had a sinking suspicion that she knew how this story was going to end. So many of these stories seemed to end in heartbreak and suffering, she supposed that this one would be no different.

Before fairy tales had been met with a swift children's entertainment punch to the head, they had been meant to be cautionary tales. Everyone knew the story of Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, or Aladdin. Each of these stories were meant to teach a lesson to children the same way that sermons in church were supposed to provide lessons. Emma had been made to go to enough church services to know that both fairy tales and religion did not provide the answers to a hard life where only self-reliance stood a chance.

Henry shook his head. "The Blue Fairy gave his son a magic bean and offered to send them both away." His expression clouded then, and Henry looked down at the book in hands. Emma could see him biting his lip and concentrating hard on the page before him. "The spinner didn't go with his son, he was a coward." Henry looked up at Emma then, his eyes shining brightly with something akin to pride at his pronouncement and condemnation of the spinner. Emma felt something akin to bile rise up in her throat at his pride and shook her head violently to push the feeling away. Henry could not understand what it was like to be faced with an impossible situation and to not want to fall into the unknown void seemed like a pretty legitimate thing to do.

Still, she could not say something like that to Henry. He was only ten, and thought the world of her. He was not ready to know that sometimes choices were not easy to make and they were not for the good of everyone. Henry would learn that on his own in time, it was part of growing up. Emma did not be the one to have to teach him those lessons. Regina could do it, or Doctor Hopper. It was Emma's job to play the hero.

They lapsed into silence then, Emma mechanically moving through the motions of preparing the brownies. She had Henry crack the eggs, and watched as he did it effortlessly. His mother had obviously baked with him before. Emma could see it in the way he handled the eggs and beat them slowly into the batter.

She wondered what it was like for Regina, to know so acutely that every single crime Henry was accusing of her was true. Emma hated lying and hated half-truths even more, and if things were to continue, she would have to continue to do so.

It was a tough path to go down. She knew that she was far too involved, far too wrapped up in whatever it was that was going on between Regina and Gold. Between Regina and most of the people in this town, honestly. So much of the story was left untold in Henry's book – it was no small wonder that he thought her the evil queen of his nightmares.

Regina was an interesting wrinkle in her understanding of this all. Emma desperately wanted to know more about what was going on, and if there was more to the curse than the simple 'I didn't like Snow White' that Regina kept giving her. Clearly there were darker forces at work here, and Regina was probably a prominent figure chief among them. The woman was positively sinister when she wanted to be, and Emma wasn't fool enough to think her innocent.

No, no one was innocent in this situation, Regina least of all.

The worst part was that Emma felt herself fighting against that truth. She wanted Regina to be innocent in this whole thing so badly and she knew that it wasn't true. Regina was every bit as guilty and with just as much blood on her hands. She'd done something to Emma as a child to bend Emma somewhat to her will - and she wasn't afraid to use that power.

Yet the desperation that had seeped through every second of that awful, wonderful, horrible kiss was enough to give Emma more than a moment's pause. She had spent the day racking her brain, trying to figure out what it was about that kiss that was throwing her off so much. She'd lived enough to have witnessed such acts before, and she knew that Regina was beyond saving when it came to sullied souls. Yet she still wanted to try and save her.

It was the savior's duty to save everyone, Henry kept telling her that. Even the much-maligned queen.

She wondered, not for the first time, if there were other forces at work in Storybrooke. The idea that Regina had been so angry at Snow White left far more questions than answers, and Emma wasn't quite sure where she would be able to get the answers she needed.

The Blue Fairy that Henry had mentioned sounded like a promising start to the trail. A neutral force between the extreme of Regina and Gold.

Emma filled the dish she'd sprayed with pam earlier with the brownie batter she'd prepared as her mind wandered and questioned everything she knew about this town. It was crazy how she could do some things out of habit, considering Henry had pulled out a math worksheet and seemed to be content to ignore her for the time being.

"You got any ideas who the blue fairy is, kid?" Emma asked as put the brownies into the oven.

Henry shook his head, shifting his papers around and carefully drawing out a long division line as he worked his way through a problem. "Nope."

_So not helpful,_ Emma shook her head ruefully.

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Emma slept restlessly that night. She'd dropped Henry off with a plate full of brownies and had been granted a small, closed-off smile from his mother as she shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and had turned back up the walk to where she had left the bug running. It was warm in her car, she had found one of her Queen cassettes buried under some magazines in the back seat and sang along to 'Break Free' all the way back to Mary Margaret's apartment.

The dreams plagued her. Emma found herself not wanting to drift off for fear of another encounter with the woman-she-was-not. Her neck still hurt from the previous dream and Emma had no intention of repeating the experience. She lay awake and thought about how the Mayor's lips had felt pressed against her own.

The queen's favor had to mean something. It was a promise and an oath that Emma was more than willing to follow through with if it meant more of those kisses. She wanted to be that person for Regina, to look past everything and see some spark of good in her that had gone unnoticed for so long. Emma wanted to be the one to save her.

As her hand crept downwards on her stomach, lingering on the soft skin there, Emma wondered if Regina had ever done something like this, thinking of the woman she'd doomed to be her knight. Emma wondered what she looked like, hands wandering and biting those red, red lips as she tried to stay quiet so as to not wake their son.

It was enough to drive her to distraction, her fist shoved in her mouth as she rolled onto her stomach and ground her hips into her mattress. Mary Margaret was asleep downstairs - her _mother_ was asleep just inside ear shot and Emma could not help herself. The imagined image of her queen pressed heavy on Emma's mind and drove her to new heights.

When it was finally over, Emma fell into a dreamless sleep that found her very nearly late for work the following morning.

The normal rush of bundling up and heading down to the sheriff's station was expedited by her tardiness and Emma found herself barreling into the office exactly five minutes before she was due to phone in the weekly crime report to Sydney Glass over at _The Mirror_. It wasn't as though anything of note had happened, but it was a mainstay in the paper and Emma's personal conflicts with the staff of the town's newspaper were not enough for her to deprive the town of news of some asshole stealing pies out of people's windows.

Emma tugged her jacket off and shoved her scarf and had down one of the sleeves before hanging it on the hook where she'd kept Graham's jacket. It was a stark reminder of how fragile life was here, and how even the most innocent could end up in the worst sorts of situations. Emma allowed her fingers to trail over its worn leather before she turned to her desk. She missed him, because at least with him there, everything had been a lot less complicated.

"I see that your propensity for promptness extends to all aspects of your life," came a clipped voice from the hallway.

Emma jumped about three feet in the air, her heart hammering in her chest as she leaned against her desk to steady herself. "Jesus," she muttered. She looked up to see the bemused smile of Regina Mills standing in the doorway.

Her cheeks burned, thinking of what she had done the previous evening, visions of this woman in her mind. "Madame Mayor," Emma inclined her head. "You scared me."

The mayor's smile was victorious as she slid into the office proper and sidled into Emma's office. "It goes with the territory, dear," she explained, reaching for Emma's coat and tossing it back to her.

Emma caught it with a confused expression. "What's going on, Regina?"

"I need you to come with me," the mayor explained, her expression dark. "There's been an... incident that we must attend to." She turned and headed back towards the door.

Jamming her hat back on top of her head, Emma followed Regina. She was led down the back steps out of the station and to the Mayor's waiting car. Emma zipped her jacket up before sliding into the Mercedes and folding her arms across her chest. "What's this about?"

"There is a being in the woods - one that does not belong here," Regina said shortly, putting the car into gear and heading down a side street towards the forests that bordered the town. "And Henry is on a field trip today."

Emma recalled that he had mentioned it the previous night, in between their baking adventure and the discussion of who the Blue Fairy could possibly be. Henry had a theory she might be one of the nuns who ran his school, which Emma found hilarious. Mary Margaret had told her how Gold loved to lord the fact that he, rather than the town government, owned the building where the elementary school was housed over the senior staff at the school.

"I think he does it just because he likes throwing his creepy weight around," Mary Margaret had snipped as she opened a box of fundraiser cookies when Emma had asked her about it after returning from dropping Henry off at home. "We all pitch in to help with the rent; tuition simply isn't high enough to cover it."

Her blood ran cold at the idea that Henry was not indoors, but rather out in the open with whatever being had crossed over from that world. "I thought that you destroyed that world when you sent them all to this one, that's what Henry thinks at least."

Regina's lips were a thin, furious line as she jerked the car off the road and down a side access road so overgrown that Emma was convinced that the Benz was not going to make it back out again. "Does he now," Regina hissed, eyes focused on the road. "It's lovely to know my son thinks me a mass murderer."

"I-" Emma began, but slumped back in her seat. She hadn't meant for it to come out like that.

The rest of the ride was silent and Emma got out of the car as quickly as she could and waded into ankle deep snow. Regina seemed to be silently fuming in the driver's seat and while Emma knew she had no magic, she wanted no part of Regina's rage. "What are we looking for, another direwolf?" Emma waved her arms around at the wide expanse of forest around them.

The queen's fingers closed around her wrist and pulled her back towards the car, spinning her so that she was pinned against the cold metal. "Shhhh," Regina breathed, her lips hovering just above Emma's, their breath a collective fog between them. Emma felt herself tremble under the intensity of the look Regina was giving her. "I won't want to alert it to our presence," Regina added.

Emma took that as an invitation, and reached one gloved hand to the small of Regina's back. She pulled the mayor to her, their bodies firmly against each other as Emma dipped her head and pressed her lips against Regina's slightly parted ones.

This was not the place or the time for it, but it felt so good to hold Regina to her and kiss her as Emma thought she deserved. Emma worshiped those lips, lingering just long enough to be considered proper, her tongue dancing out and over their boundary before retreating when no entrance was granted.

Regina's hands were curled around her jacket, holding her in place as a warm glow of light erupted between them, emanating from somewhere deep within Regina. Emma pulled back, startled as the glow appeared, but found herself pulled back in to another, more passionate kiss.

The glow did not fate, and Emma heard, rather that saw or felt the sword that rested within the Evil Queen's heart clatter to the ground beside them. She found she did not care, her mind utterly preoccupied with how Regina's tongue was in her mouth, pressing forward again and again - simulating an act that left Emma weak at her knees.

It seemed to go on forever, and when Regina pulled away and bent to pick up the sword, Emma mourned the loss of closeness. Her breath fogged the air between them as Regina pushed her bangs away from her eyes and passed Emma the sword.

"The power of this sword rests within my heart, Ms. Swan," Regina explained as Emma reached out and took the sword. She looked uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot as she stared out into the forest. "Your touch…" she began again as Emma adjusted her grip on the sword. "it brings out whatever limited magic there is left in this world and makes the extraction process easier."

Emma shook her head. Excuses, excuses. "And here I was thinking that you liked me, Regina."

Regina turned back to Emma and shook her head. "If you think that, Ms. Swan, you're a bigger fool than I thought." Emma looked at her solidly in the eyes and could see the hint of amusement hidden there, along with the flat-out lie.

Grinning in response, Emma inclined her head. "Touché, Madam Mayor. What are we hunting?"

"Nothing particularly special – a minotaur."

"Wait - like Greek mythology labyrinth style minotaur?" Emma's eyes widened as Regina's expression hardened. She could not handle something that magnitude. No. Fuck that.

"I do not know how it got here, or even why. I did not summon it, nor do I know how it got here. Unlike the direwolf, which was a clear attempt on both of our lives, this is different. It's presence is an unknown factor and it cannot be here." Regina's hand shot out and grabbed Emma's jacket, her face a dark and turbluant mask of emotion. "You must kill it and quickly, before it gets any closer to the town."

Emma nodded because she did agree about that. The sword felt heavy in her hands and she felt the weight of the entire world fall heavily upon her shoulders. "Why is this happening?" she asked, staring out into the forest where the beast lurked. "Is it Gold?"

Regina shook her head, arms wrapped tightly around herself. "It is not, I don't think. He has his own reasons for being here…"

That made the whole situation seem all the more scary to Emma. She gripped the sword and nodded once, before turning and heading into the woods. She knew that it would do no good to linger with questions that could not be answered through practical means. Another creature in the woods meant that something was happening, a barrier was weakening.

Magic was coming.

The winter air bit a cold chill deep into Emma's boots as she cut a steady path through the trees. She'd always been good at finding things, her mind seems well-situated to solving such problems. She'd used it to find work for most of her life, tracking down people who had run from the law. That innate sense of direction that she was so accustomed to having was not there now, and Emma felt completely alone, standing in the middle of the woods armed only with a sword.

How had Regina known that the beast was here at all? Did she have some sort of complex pseudo-magical network in place to track such things? Emma bit her lip and trudged on, looking for signs on the trees, broken branches or footprints – something to give her an idea of what direction to go in. She decided that Regina must have some sort of safeguards in place, because for such a protection to be part of the curse seemed a bit excessive.

_Regina might be a planner, but she's not that good,_ Emma thought darkly, slashing with the sword at a branch moodily as she realized that thicker socks would have been a very good idea today. She had not anticipated the day going this way, and her mind was still full of what it had felt like to have Regina's lips on her own once more.

Something smelled foul as Emma came across a half-way frozen stream and she wrinkled her nose. A patch of yellow lingered in the snow and she raised her hand up to her face in disgust. It was piss; something had taken a big stinky leak here and had gone about its business. This was Maine; the biggest predator in these woods would be a coyote or maybe a stray dog.

Biting her tongue against the wave of bile that rose up in her throat, Emma turned and followed the smell. It couldn't be far, it smelled so putrid, worse than every dumpster and hell-hole Emma had ever dared venture into.

In true story book fashion, Emma came upon a clearing. She remembered this same place from her dreams, the low flat rock protruding out from the center of the clearing and the careful ring of toadstools around it. It smelled like it had in the dream here, like sulfur mixed with an overpowering whiff of the creature she was chasing. Emma gripped the sword tightly and stepped cautiously into the clearing. This was a place of magic, she could sense it in her very bones.

Her breath fogged before her and Emma moved in a wide spiral to the center of the clearing, careful to not cross the fairy ring. There was something unnerving about this place. Fear welled up deep within Emma, but she knew that she had to do this, to protect her queen and her son. An oath she'd sworn and intended to fulfill.

The trees off to her right shook and rattled, a roar filled the clearing, and Emma squared herself. She barely had time to realize that her quarry was charging towards her from the woods before it hit, bull's tusks against the unrelenting steel of her blade. Emma ducked under the beast's swiping arms, her blade lashing out to cut deep into the soft flesh of its stomach. She could see that it was male, that it was part human and very obviously as horrifying as the myths and legends made it out to be.

Her stomach turned as it roared, dread settling deep within her as she bent at one knee and pushed herself forward into the attack. The only offense when you had no defense and your opponent was faster than you was to use whatever speed you had to your advantage. Emma'd played enough flag football to know that.

The beast charged, but this time, Emma was ready. She ran straight towards it, sword thrusting forward, protecting herself from the onslaught of claws and fangs and doom. She knew that she could cut through its defense.

Her arms strained as the sword connected with the beast's horn and she kicked out at its shin as she fell to the ground, her balance lost as she skidded to the ground. Her shoulder connected with the frozen ground and she winced. That was going to leave a mark.

The beast spun to a halt across the clearing and in a moment that seemed to slow down time and space, Emma looked to her left and saw that she'd somehow managed to fall clear through the fairy ring. A crushed toadstool lay just beside her hand and Emma reached for it on a whim, her fingers closing around it. It felt warm in her hands, pulsating with the same power that she felt before – when Regina kissed her.

"The power…" Emma muttered to herself, picking up her sword and readying herself for another round. That power slept within her, and she fully intended to make use of it. She bit her tongue winced as her shoulder began to throb painfully.

The beast charged once more, but this time Emma was ready for him. She lunged forward, her sword extended straight ahead as she pushed it forward and up the beast's nose. The skin was soft there, and blood erupted from the wound. Emma knew as soon as she gave her sword a vicious twist that the beast was dead where he lay.

Kicking out with her foot, Emma pulled the sword from the beast and stumbled backwards, her vision blurring as the smell grew more pungent. A veritable geyser of blood erupted from the wound and she jumped backwards, struggling to avoid getting the blood all over herself.

As the beast gave its final death rattle, Emma leaned heavily on her sword, bent over and panting. The minotaur's blood dripped from her fingertips as she struggled to catch her breath. She'd fallen though a fairy ring, and her body was full of that tingly feeling of unease that had plagued her since she'd first encountered the clearing.

She shook off her hand, wiping it clean on the leg of her ruined jeans. She tugged her phone out of her pocket and dialed the number from memory. "It's done," she gasped, before collapsing backwards into the snow.

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_What does it mean to fall through a fairy ring?_

To cut through such a sacred space is to disregard the power of the fairy who put it there. Such locations hold great power to ones who create them. They are made with will-power and not with fairy dust. What happens in such a place is largely unknown. Students of magic have tried for many years to understand the intricacies of such locations, but it is a secret the fae and the fairy folk keep completely guarded.

_Suffice to say, it will anger such a being to destroy such a place._

_A place like that is a portal, created by one of the fair folk, to bring beings across worlds._

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You guys are super duper awesome, thank you so much for your kind reviews!

I am so so so so sorry about the delay in getting this up. So much as gone on since I last updated and I feel absolutely terrible about it. Most of my writing is done during my downtime at work, and my job description recently changed. It's super shitty now as I'm busy for a lot longer. Hopefully this was worth the wait.

I wanted to write Emma as really struggling with how she feels about everything because she's not about to forgive Regina for what she's done - but at the same time she desperately wants to save her. It's odd.

next: The Pawnbroker and the Fairy


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Nine – The Pawnbroker and the Fairies**

The traveler was a princess in name only. She was a journeyman and an adventurer before she was of noble blood. She loved the road more than she would ever love the king's court. They said that it was because her father was not truly the prince, but merely a stand in for when the old king's son had had an unfortunate run-in with the cursed King Midas. The traveler had grown up in the long shadow of doubt about the legitimacy of her parents' kingdom. The legacy of the witch, or perhaps of a bloody war meant to overthrow the once-king, Charles, who had mortgaged his kingdom away.

Depending on which bard told the story, there were a multitude of outcomes of that war. The witch-queen fell from grace and vanished, the White Princess ascended to the throne and peace returned once more. Those were the facts, if you were listening to one who had been there. The common folk loved the witch-queen. She had once been their leader and the one person who had managed to see their needs met in a world where so often their kind went by the wayside.

The White Princess, the traveler's mother, had recognized this, and had turned to the witch for help in making a smooth transition. The witch had vanished, however. There was no trace of her in her exile castle, and none of the stable hands knew where she had gone. She had asked for horse to be made ready for a long journey, and had left without so much as a word.

As the traveler had grown up, there had been stories, rumors of a witch deep in the woods. Soon, those too sank into the bard's tales, and there had been nothing heard of the witch for years now. It was this that the traveler had set out to investigate, for the witch was as much a part of her life as she was an enigma.

The witch was not at all what the traveler had expected, nor had she anticipated ever finding her. There was a curse on her name to that lead to the future, a dream at the forefront of her mind. She had indeed been cursed, bound to a soul not her own.

She woke from the dream of the woman who was, yet was not, herself to find the little boy sitting at her feet. He was watching her, his expression quiet and unreadable. The traveler gathered her shirt-laces around herself and drew them shut, tying them into a loose bow at her neck so as to remain decent. Her vest was bundled underneath her cloak, a hard and uncomfortable pillow as she had refused the witch's bed. "Good morning," she said to the little boy.

The traveler reached for her boots and pulled them on tiredly. The blanket that had been generously given to her came next, folded carefully and set on the rocking chair from whence it came.

The little boy smiled cheerfully at the traveler, his hair was sticking up and his skin still sleep-warm. "You didn't leave," he said sleepily, and launched himself into her arms. His little body nestled into the traveler's lap as she awkwardly put her arms around him.

"Where would I have gone?" The traveler asked, running sleepy fingers through the little boy's hair. "The forest mistress offered me her hearth for the night."

She looked up to see the witch leaning against the doorway, wrapped in a house coat and a sleepy expression of her own. Her hair was down, curling past her shoulders and down her back. The traveler could see that it had, at one point, been in a single plait down her back. Now, however, with the night of sleep set upon her, her hair had started to worm its way loose and out of its braid. "Good morning," she said again, addressing the witch properly, with an almost subservient bow of her head in the process. She was not fool enough to disrespect a witch.

"And to you as well," the witch placed one hand on her hip, allowing the house coat she was wearing to drift open and the traveler could see the swell of her breast and her breath caught, taking in the beauty of her.

The morning progressed slowly, the traveler helping with the morning tasks without a word of question. She knew that it was a guest's duty, as it was a host's duty. She would not shirk such duties. She did the washing and went about the morning ahead of her without complaint.

"What do you know of fairies?" The witch asked as they went out to the stables later on. The traveler wanted to check on her mount, and to get a better look at the witch's steed. She had not been able to see him very well in darkness and rain the night before, she could not help but admit to say that she was curious.

The traveler knew very little, and said as much, a sheepish smile darting across her lips as she admitted to her ignorance. Humility was not something that came easily to anyone in her family. "Fairies are creatures of ancient origin," she explained, meeting the witch's gaze slowly. "They are so old that their natures are oftentimes forgotten. That's about all I know."

"Then you, my dear, know more than most."

Something damp touched Emma's forehead tentatively as she tried to twist her body and will herself back into the dream. The dream that was so real that she could be almost positive that it was actually about a real thing – a palpable thing that she could reach out and touch. The warm wetness on her forehead was certainly not appreciated. She scowled, and then slowly cracked open an eye.

The Mayor's face swam into view, blurry for the water that had dripped down into Emma's eye as she lay on what looked like the bed in Regina's guest room. Emma blinked furiously, but the water would not dissipate and her mind jerked more fully into wakefulness.

"'pose I killed it?" Emma asked. Her head was spinning an even the slightest movement made it ache like there was no tomorrow. Apparently talking was too much for her right now and she raised her hand with difficulty to wipe at the water in her eyes.

Her entire body was throbbing in pain. She remembered the fight, remembered what had come before it, but she did not remember what had happened after that. How had she ended up back here? Had she succeeded in killing the minotaur?

"You did," came Regina's voice then, and there was a pleasant sort of smile in it. Not the sort of smile that Emma would have ever associated with Regina. No, Regina was far more hardened and battle-tested. Emma blinked, pulling her hand away from her eyes and stared up at the Mayor. "And the world is a better place thanks to your continued persistence in avoiding death."

"No need to be sarcastic," Emma grumbled, turning over. Her entire back was on fire, being on her stomach was a much better plan right now. "How'd I get back here?" She turned then, her back screaming protest, "And if you say magic..."

"I called David Nolan, he helped me carry you back," Regina shrugged. The expression on her face was somewhere between amusement and disinterest as she set the washcloth in her hands aside. "You need to rest though, I'll be back to check up on you later."

The minotaur was dead. Perhaps she really could rest easy now.

It could never be that easy though, and Emma knew it well. Such an existence would be punctuated with long periods of calm and furious moments of absolute crisis. It was the story of Emma's entire life and as much as she was used to it, she had hoped Storybrooke would turn into a place where she could finally stop and rest.

"Regina..." Emma trailed off, squinting in the dim evening light towards the door where the Mayor had paused. "What do you know about fairies?" She asked the question on a whim, because it they had featured so prominently in her dream and the whole idea of them was intriguing to the point of being distracting. She had to know if they were as real as the book made them out to be.

"They're ancient beings with questionable motives," came Regina's succinct reply, echoing her dream from earlier. "Why do you ask?"

Raising a shaky hand, Emma tapped her head. "Dreams - and I er... I used a fairy ring to kill your minotaur." It was truly a testament to their growing relationship that Emma felt comfortable enough with Regina that she even considered divulging such a fact. Her mind was full of the dire warnings that Henry kept bandying about - of how Regina was a truly evil person who would stop at nothing to see them all killed. The problem was that Regina was also the only friendly person with any answers to the multitude of questions that Emma was trying to struggle with at the present time.

"Did you now," Regina seemed to ease back into the room slowly. Her steps were carefully measured and Emma watched them with some trepidation as she came to stand beside the bed once more. "And what do you know of fairy rings?" Her nostrils flared dangerously as she asked the question and Emma's whole body seemed to throb with the pain that radiated down from the back of her head.

Henry's warnings echoed in her ears, but they fell on deaf ears. Emma knew from the way that Regina had settled herself back into the room that she was probably in a sharing mood. And she liked that, because it was what she honestly needed now. The circle of magical energy that she'd used to kill that minotaur had to have been put there by something.

"When fairies come to this world, they leave them behind. And that ill fortune follows those who fall through them," Her head was killing her and her words seemed to slur together a bit. She knew other things about fairies, but she couldn't place them, and maybe she was mixing them up with the story of the Labyrinth? She did love her some David Bowie in tight pants.

Emma watched as Regina contemplated these words, before she shook her head ruefully. "The fair folk don't travel to worlds without magic unless they have reason." Her eyes narrowed and she turned to look Emma full in the face. "You said you fell through it?"

"Yeah, I fell and then I slid," The room was definitely spinning now, and Emma raised a hand to touch her forehead. She had hoped it would ground her, but instead it only seemed to intensify the out of control feeling she was currently battling with. "The minotaur fell through it after me and I think that it -" she trailed off, her head was killing her and she didn't think that she could keep this up. She wanted to sleep and wanted to be left alone, but the answer was staring her down, looming in the growing darkness. "It came through that portal?"

Regina's nod was curt. "Get some sleep, Ms. Swan; we must be discrete for the time being. I don't want it knowing we're aware of its involvement." She rose from the bed; her fingers lingering just at the edge of the sheet were Emma's hand had fallen away from her forehead as her dizziness increased. For the most fleeting of moments, Regina trailed her finger forward, touching Emma's hand.

It was strange to touch Regina, even stranger still to attempt to figure out what it meant. There were too many possibilities and too much confusion now. She had no idea what was happening.

Regina snatched her hand away, and retreated from the room. Emma was left in silence then, the dizziness gripped her and the room seemed to tilt forward and she found herself drifting off to sleep.

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Emma slept for a night and a day. The dreams that she had during that period were punctuated by soothing hands and calming words whispered into her ear as she slept. She slept fitfully, but over time it steadied out to an indeterminable stretch of calm.

She did not go back to the place in her dreams - something kept her firmly grounded in her own world. As she rose in and out of the dream world, her semi-waking mind wondered why she was not sinking back into that dream world, her body clinging to reality desperately as she tossed and turned in her half-sleep.

As the last rays of evening sunlight were streaming through the window, Emma cracked an eye open. Her body was slowly jerking its way out of sleep. She was feeling about a million times better than the previous time she had awoken. Emma blinked sleepily as she surveyed the bedside table with discarded pair of earrings and a few picture frames. As her mind woke up, she realized that had no idea where she was. The pictures on the bedside table were of Henry, and the book looked suspiciously like a relic of that other world she continued to dream of.

Had Regina really put her up in her own bed?

Emma frowned and sat up, examining her hands. They looked scrubbed clean, but she could not remember bathing. She gulped, and hoped that it was some sort of residual cleaning spell or something that Regina had put into effect. She couldn't stomach the idea of being seen broken and bruised by Henry's mother.

She clenched her fists and looked towards the door. She could get out of here so easily. She could hop into the bug and never look back to a world of swords in hearts of stone and minotaurs.

She could do a lot of things.

"You're very resourceful, when under pressure," came a voice from a second door that Emma hadn't noticed until that moment. It must have been connected to a bathroom or laundry room, as Regina stepped into the room holding a basket full of what looked suspiciously like Emma's clothes from the day before. The clothes that had been damn near ruined by that fight in the woods.

Emma cracked a smile and moved to get out of bed, only to realize that she had no pants on. "Thanks... I think," she replied, staying put and hoping that pants would come in short order. She felt awkward and exposed before Regina, and while she knew that there was very little that was left unsaid between them, a girl had to have some secrets.

Regina set the basket down on the end of the bed. "Get dressed, Henry stayed with Kathryn Nolan last night, and I need to collect him. I'll take you to your car." She leveled Emma with an almost appraising gaze before turning and leaving the room.

The clothes in the basket were still warm from the dryer, and Emma shoved her legs into her jeans and groaned. She hadn't put these jeans into the dryer yet, and they were almost uncomfortably tight as she wiggled her way into them. Her shirt, thankfully, hadn't shrunk, and she pulled it over her head before turning and setting the laundry basket on the floor and pulling up the sheets. She was almost positive that Regina would probably bleach the hell out of them as soon as she left, but making the bed seemed like the right thing to do. She'd buy Regina a nice bottle of wine to say think you properly.

Or - and Emma's cheeks flushed a bit at this - she'd just kiss her without swords having anything to do with it. That also sounded like a decent idea.

She found her jacket and boots by the door and Regina appeared from her study a moment later, a sheaf of papers in her hands. She handed them to Emma wordlessly as she got her own coat out of the closet. Emma glanced at them as she waited; they looked like some sort of charter and manifest documents - not really her cup of tea.

"So am I going to have to kill any more of those things?" Emma asked.

Regina paused, her hands half-way through fixing her coat collar. She flipped it down and smoothed it flat before replying, "I don't know." She seemed to hesitate and then add, "I have an idea of why it appeared, but I'd... like to know more."

"Is that what these are for?" Emma asked, tapping the papers with her free hand.

"There is the potential for that, yes," Regina said. A true politician's answer if she'd ever heard one. Emma's eyes narrowed. Regina was putting on a scarf and checking her hair in the mirror by the door.

Trying not to sound too exasperated, Emma sighed. She ran a hand through her hair, wincing as she hit a snarl. "Look, I can't help you if you're not honest with me," she said.

Regina pursed her lips and held out her hand for the papers. She tucked them under her arm and wordlessly led the way out the door to the car. As Emma shoved her hands in her jean pockets and moodily made her way over to the passenger side, Regina did something that was a little bit bizarre. She looked up the street and then down, as if checking to see that no one was watching before she unlocked the door.

"Afraid to be seen with me?" Emma asked sarcastically. A shy sort of a grin flashed across her lips as she did so. She hated to think that such a thing was true, but it probably was. Regina had made it very clear from the beginning of her time in Storybrooke that she wanted Emma gone. While they were working better together these days - the fact still remained that Emma was a threat to her life with Henry. A very real and probably just a little bit menacing one.

Not that she thought of herself as menacing at all. No, she was a big fluffy puffy with somewhat charming moments and generally good teeth.

"Quite," Regina sniffed.

"So you're not going to tell me what you think is going on?" Emma asked with a scowl. More than anything, Emma hated being kept in the dark, and she knew that if Regina wanted to, there were a great many secrets that she could _not_ be told. Emma hated that idea, hated the feeling of powerlessness and not knowing. She was supposed to be the savior, the one who would someday break the curse that Regina had so foolishly cast on this town. Being put at a constant disadvantage by the one person who seemed willing to at least start to share information with here was damn near infuriating.

Regina started the car and shifted into reverse. She did not start to drive, however, but rested her hands on the base of the steering wheel. "No," she said curtly.

"And why is that?" Emma demanded.

"Because you are brash, Ms. Swan. You do things that are unpredictable and, frankly, stupid. I cannot risk Henry at this moment. If this is what I think it is, there is a certain finesse that is required. It is one that you lack, dear," Regina's eyes met Emma's at this moment and Emma could see the pain and the worry and the fear that was barely contained there.

She wondered what could possibly have an evil witch who had killed as many and as often as the stories said Regina had so worried. The whole idea of Regina being worried was extremely disconcerting for Emma, who thought the woman to be pretty much unflappable.

"What if I promised you that I wouldn't act?" Emma proposed after a moment of intense staring that had her mind reeling with more than a few possibilities. "I'm pretty useless without you anyway."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, dear," Regina replied and slowly started to back the car out of the driveway. "If you truly must know, the curse included a few hangers-on that I had no intention of actually including when I cast it."

"Who?"

Regina shifted the car into first, and then second gear, accelerating down Mufflin Street towards town. "Fairies, dear." At Emma's blank look she added, "The nuns running the schools."

"Oh," Emma said quietly. After a long moment of silence, she added, "Why'd you make 'em nuns?"

Regina sighed, "I didn't control that aspect of the curse." She turned onto Main Street and then cut down the alley by the police station. Emma bit her lip, wondering if it were possible for anyone else in this town to be aware of what was happening here. Time, according to Henry, had started to move again. Ashley had had her baby, after Regina had apparently cursed her into being eight months pregnant for twenty eight years. That was cruel and unusual.

"Why did you cast this curse?" Emma asked as Regina parked behind the bug. "If you hated these people so much, why did you curse them all here with you? Why not just leave?"

The blank stare Regina sent her way was answer enough for Emma. Emma clambered out of the car and sighed. It was probably one of those soul-searching questions that Regina had no answers to, even now, so far removed from the events that had caused all this strife in the first place.

"I..." Regina shook her head and her expression hardened. "Keep me informed, Sheriff," she said curtly.

Emma gave a mock salute and watched as Regina executed a damn near perfect three point turn and drove back up towards the main street. The whole situation was beyond messed up at this point, and Emma was starting to struggle with it.

She turned on one foot and headed into the station, determined to get to the bottom of the stack of paperwork she still had yet to process. She was trying to be the good sheriff, to live up to and above the expectations that Graham had left behind.

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Henry came to find Emma a few days later, dragging his boots through the slush and not caring that the back of his pants were splattered with rock salt and muddy road debris. Emma was sitting in her office - Graham's office really, his coat was still on the rack by the door - and sucking on the back of a pen when he came in.

She had made a list of everyone in the town that she'd deemed important through her observations of how Regina interacted with them. There were a lot of citizens that really didn't seem like they had anything to do with anything, but were just good people that were somehow beholden to the rules of this curse in one way or another. Emma wasn't sure what sort of purpose that this list would hold, but she carefully pulled a file folder across her desk to cover it when Henry showed up. She didn't want him knowing that she'd ignored his warnings and was currently in cahoots with the evil queen of his stories.

"Hi Emma!" He said, setting his backpack down on the chair opposite Emma's and unzipping it.

"Hey kid," she replied, smiling at him and setting down her pen.

He was digging for something, and he'd already unearthed the book of fairy tales, a math text book, the third Harry Potter novel, and several battered-looking Marvel comics.

"You lookin' for China?" she asked with a raised eyebrow as Henry's head just about disappeared into his backpack.

"No!" Henry laughed, appearing with a crumpled pile of papers and a triumphant smile. He handed them over to her and she took them, trying to ignore the wear and tear on them. "I wanted you to see these, mom threw them out."

Emma set them down on her desk and slowly spread them out. Across her desk a story unfolded, carefully documented in the Mayor's spindly handwriting.

The papers were covered with some sort of writing that Emma had never seen before. The letters reminded her of some of the scenes from her dreams, but she wasn't about to let on to Henry that she recognized them. "What do you think they are?" she asked, running her fingers down one line of writing. It was written a lot like Chinese, with a very deliberate order and pattern for each line, even if some of them seemed completely counter intuitive to how Emma had been taught to write.

"Spells!" Henry said excitedly, pulling the book towards him and flipping to a specific page. There was a small illustration in the middle of one of the large and glossy pages there. A spell book covered in characters very similar to the ones on the papers spread across Emma's desk. "That picture is the spell book The Miller's Daughter tricked Rumpelstiltskin out of when she saved her child from the deal she made with him."

Emma blinked, shaking her head at the notion that had just popped into her head because it couldn't possibly be that easy. She knew that story, she was pretty sure everyone knew that story because it was one of the most well-known non-Disney-fied fairy tales. Henry might not have, due to his mother's probable connection with it, but pretty much everyone else had to know the story.

She knew who Rumpelstiltskin was. She'd probably always known, because honestly, Gold was creepy enough to begin with. Adding that aspect to his character, on top of his obvious awareness of what was happening in town was enough to make Emma have more than a few suspicions about him.

"Okay..." she said, and took the book from Henry. She flipped to the beginning of the story, hoping to get some convenient translation or cipher to help her figure out what was written here. There was no such luck, but she read about a young girl who was far shrewder than even Rumpelstiltskin when it came to making deals. Henry sat in his chair, hands balling up the knees of his school pants as he watched her read. Emma flipped forward a few pages, to the end of the story. "Do you think your mom has the book that they're talking about?" she asked.

Henry shook his head. "Don't think so. I checked everywhere at home, even in the attic and the basement. And then I snuck into her office when she was in a city council meeting. It's not there either."

Emma groaned. Henry was truly one of the worst children she'd ever encountered when it came to his absolute devotion to the idea that his mother was some sort of an evil witch. While Emma knew that this was at least somewhat true, she hated that he was doing this to the woman who had obviously cared for him his entire life. He had let Emma take that role away from Regina almost without a fight.

Maybe there was some neglect there, but Emma would have loved to have someone like Regina as a mother when she was a child. She would have been grateful to have a home to come home to every day. There was so much variance in her childhood that sometimes she found herself forgetting that there were good times mixed in with all the crappiness.

"If the stories are true," she began, tapping the book with her fingertips in quick succession. "Don't you think that maybe you should cut your mom some slack?"

"Why?" Henry asked, child-like incomprehension and innocence drifting across his face. "She cast the curse, she ruined everyone's life."

"I ruined your life, Henry," Emma explained. "I ruined your life by making it so easy for you to find me. I ruined your life for coming here. You don't deserve this, and neither does your mom."

"She's the Evil Queen!" Henry insisted. "You're the white knight; you're supposed to save everyone."

Emma shook her head. He just didn't get it. He probably never would. It was the sort of thing that he simply lacked the maturity and worldview to understand. "Kid," she said. "If I'm supposed to save everyone, the first person I'd want to save would be your mom."

He scowled at her, and Emma collected the sheaf of papers and stacked them neatly. She smoothed their corners and pressed them flat, taking care to keep them in the order that they'd been in when Henry'd handed them to her. Leaning back behind her, her foot hooking under the desk to keep her balance as she leaned her chair back on two legs, Emma reached for a file folder from the top of the filing cabinet behind her desk.

"I'm opening a file for stuff like this, Henry," Emma said. She picked up her pen and wrote out the file name on the label tab and held it up for Henry to see.

'Mills, Regina.'

"Awesome!" Henry's eyes widened and joy returned easily to his face and Emma wanted to scream. He just... didn't get it. And she had no way of making him get it until she had proof that this whole curse business was something other than entirely his mother's fault. There were indications - the minotaur and the conversations about fairies chief among them that made Emma wonder if it wasn't something else entirely.

They lapsed into silence, Henry opening up his math text book and completing two problem sets in one of his notebooks. Emma bit her lip and almost offered to check his answers over, but decided against it. That was more Regina's territory and she really didn't want to step over that threshold. It would indicate to Henry, she was positive, that it was totally okay for Emma to be in a parenting sort of role, which was totally and completely not acceptable.

She'd never wanted children.

At five thirty on the dot, Henry gathered up his things and told Emma that he was walking town hall to meet his mother. Emma nodded her agreement and walked him to the door. She did not offer to walk him, as the distance wasn't particularly far and it was unseasonably warm outside, if a slushy mess.

Emma leaned in the doorway, hands in her back pockets as she watched him pick his way up Main Street and out of sight around the corner to City Hall.

"He's a good lad," Emma damn near jumped out of her skin as she turned to see Mr. Gold leaning on his cane just outside of Emma's peripheral vision, watching Henry go with some interest. "Shame there's such a rift between him and his mother."

"Tell me about it," Emma agreed. Gold might be a total slime ball, but he was totally capable of making an astute observation. Emma watched him for a moment more before she turned to go back inside. "Did you need something with the sheriff's office, Mr. Gold?"

He shook his head. "Not particularly, I was just passing though." He lifted a plastic grocery bag from the shop just up the road. "I ran out of orange juice this morning."

"Ah," Emma said stupidly. She stood there for what was maybe a beat too long before adding, "Well-"

Gold's eyes flashed curiously in the growing twilight and he took a step forward. "Actually, if you don't mind, I do have something I need to discuss with you."

Trying not to groan, Emma held the door open for him. "Come in, then."

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Gold went immediately to the kitchenette at the back of the station, where the coffee maker and microwave were. There was a sink and a hot water heater as well, and he started the process of making tea without so much as a word. Emma leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest as she watched him putter about. She had a multitude of questions that she knew she could not ask. Regina hadn't said it as many words, but Emma was pretty sure that she was afraid of Gold, to some extent.

"Are you just going to lurk there, dearie, or ask me what I'm doing here?" Gold asked, glancing over his shoulder. The red of his scarf stood out starkly against the clammy color of his skin.

Emma shrugged and tipped herself forward with the toe of her boot. She ambled into the room, trying to look as nonchalant and unthreatening as she possibly could with a gun strapped to her hip and a badge to go with it. "Looks like you're making tea. Not much to ask about."

He shook his head and picked up the electric kettle and poured himself a cup. Raising the still steaming kettle towards Emma, he asked, "You want one?"

"Nah," Emma said, shaking her head. "Can't stand it hot."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

They went back to Emma's office, Gold sitting where Henry had sat, Emma shifting even more papers around on her desk to make room for a fresh piece of paper and the pen that she'd hadn't chewed the end off of to take notes.

"I wish to file a complaint," Gold began, sipping nosily at his tea. Emma wondered if it was a where-ever-the-hell he was from thing, because slurping was really rude across all the households she'd been brought up in. And usually got you slapped, but that was really beside the point.

"Okay," Emma said. She bent down and pulled open the bottom desk drawer were the incident reports were kept and produced one from the top of the stack. She sat back up and set it on the top of her pad of paper. "What happened?"

He sipped his tea again, watching her carefully over the rim of his borrowed mug. "I would rather have it not be official for the time being, if it's all the same to you."

Emma bit her lip and scowled at the paper before her, before she set down her pen and folded her hands across the report. "It's gonna depend on what you tell me."

"Naturally," Gold inclined his head. "Some time ago, I made arrangements for the Mother Superior of the convent that runs the schools here to spend some time in my shop helping with the inventory for a break on the rent. Some... rather sensitive books and documents went missing."

Emma leaned forward, lifting the pad and incident report and looking at the calendar before her.

"Six months ago," he replied with a sly smile.

Emma sat back, her hands just barely touching the edge of the desk before her. "What, then, do you want me to do about it?" Sure, there was a statute of limitations for stuff like this, but it was still a few years off. It was mighty fishy that Gold wanted her to investigate now, rather than have Graham do it when the crime had allegedly taken place.

"I think you've already encountered the results," he gestured to still healing bruise that circled her wrist and disappeared up under her sweater sleeve. "Certain creatures are... shall we say, more troublesome than they're worth."

Emma's blood ran cold and she tried to keep her expression blank. Her mind was racing faster than horses and she opened her mouth to reply with far more trepidation than she'd initially expected to have. She would never have expected Gold of all people to lay some of his cards out so quickly.

"I... I'm not entirely sure what you're talking about," Emma gestured to her wrist. "This happened when I was investigating some strange tracks up in the woods. I tripped over a root that was covered in snow and landed badly. David Nolan and the Mayor came to collect me."

Gold's eyes narrowed. "That would make a lovely story, if it weren't a lie, dearie." He tapped his finger against his head. "I know things, I see things - and I've seen you. The direwolf was a theory I had to -"

"That was you?" Emma rose to her feet, her body trembling with barely hidden rage. Henry had been right there, had handled it. What if he'd tripped? What if he'd somehow let it out? And Regina - Regina who had no magic in this world. "What the fuck were you thinking - You have it to Henry!"

He gave a tittering sort of a laugh, his eyes wide and manic. "He's a careful boy, now isn't he, sheriff? Doesn't go dropping expensive things belonging to his mother." He drew out the last word as though it were meant to hurt her. Emma wanted to laugh, for it really didn't bother her that much. Henry was her child, yes, but he wasn't her son. Not like he was Regina's.

"And then the minotaur?" Emma demanded, her hands clenching and unclenching into fists.

Gold's face grew stony, and his eyes seemed to darken considerably. In the half-light of her office, where the sun light hit his skin, he almost seemed to glitter like gold. "That is why I am here."

"It wasn't you?" Emma demanded, extremely skeptical.

"No dearie, I'm afraid I'm as bound to the rules as much as the mayor. This is someone else," He stood and set his mug down on the desk. "You'd best be careful - the sort of enemies that would summon such a beast - well, I'd hate to have them."

He turned and left without a word, leaving Emma standing alone in the middle of the sheriff's station with questions piling up and not an answer in sight. She sank back down into her chair and rested her head in her hands, groaning low and long.

This whole situation was just getting more and more complicated. If it wasn't Gold, then who was it? Gold made the most sense, and Regina had painted him as somewhat of an enemy, but maybe he wasn't the ultimate. Maybe he was more like a mini boss or something? Not really the real deal, even if he seemed hardcore as all get out in the book.

She reached forward and pulled her desk phone out of its cradle and – after a moment's hesitation - slowly dialed the number she had long-since committed to memory. It rang twice as she sat with her fingers pressing into her eyes, before it clicked on the other end. "I need to see you," she said without preamble. "Gold."

"Eleven tonight," came the response. Emma hoped it'd be soon enough.

The day dragged by, Emma spent most of it buried in a stack of paperwork that dated back years, looking for some sort of a connection between Gold and the nuns who ran the school. He had made complaints that Graham had documented on occasion regarding lateness in the rent of the school building and convent space. It was quickly becoming evident to Emma that Mr. Gold owned at least half the town, if not more. Maybe that was where his power came from, rather than the magic that he, too, was without in this world.

At ten fifteen she texted Mary Margaret and told her that she had one more errand that she had to run and that she didn't know how long it'd take. She was trying to distance herself from Mary Margaret, because she couldn't help the way she felt, looking at the woman. She was drawn in, and was terrified of the knowledge that yes, she might indeed actually have a mother.

Mary Margaret responded promptly, saying that she was going to bed soon and to drive safely. Emma found herself smiling fondly at her phone's screen as she readied herself to head out for the night. A fit of paranoia forced her to put every single file that she'd taken out of Graham's rather extensive filing system back exactly where she'd found it. She didn't trust Gold for a second and was completely positive that he would find a way to ascertain if she'd been into the files kept about him. Putting them back seemed a decent way to protect herself, should he actually accuse her of investigating him.

She threw on her coat and grabbed her keys and hissed low under her breath as she clicked off the lights and stepped outside. The temperature was not well below freezing and not even the warm ocean wind could keep the town from plunging into the depths of winter. It would soon be time for Emma to stop wearing her jackets and dig out her winter coat from the depths of the backseat of the bug.

Which, thankfully, started without a hitch. She shivered as the car's crappy heating system did little to warm the car. The windows weren't fogging so she headed out and up Main Street, towards the mayor's house.

Regina had said eleven because Henry went to bed pretty promptly at nine thirty. Emma had noticed that he did read in bed for a little while with a secret flashlight, but it was usually only until about ten, after which point he conked out. Still, Emma parked a little ways up Mufflin Street and walked the rest of the way to the Regina's house on foot, not wanting to attract the attention of her half-asleep son and thus make this whole situation even more awkward.

She picked her way up the icy walk and knocked quietly on the door.

It opened a few moments later, Regina in bare feet and holding a mug of something steaming and good-smelling. Emma's stomach growled with envy.

"I'll fix you one," Regina said quietly, and lead the way into the kitchen. She set a sauce pan on the stove and began to move about the kitchen with the ease of one long in practice. Emma knew she was a good cook, she knew that Henry's lunches were always lovingly prepared, and she knew that she was absolute garbage at anything domestic. Still, sometimes it cut her up inside that Regina was good at all the parenting sort of things that where she was not.

"Gold came to see me," Emma said, sliding onto a stool at the kitchen island and resting most of her weight on her forearms as she bridged her fingers together in front of her. She watched as Regina poured, sprinkled and whisked spices into the pot and measured out a shot of jack into a mug before she continued. "He mentioned that he was responsible for the direwolf."

Regina paused, whisk resting on the edge of her saucepan. "He actually came out and said as much?" Emma nodded and Regina sighed. She cut off the stove and poured the contents of the pan into the waiting mug. She set the pan in the sink, before scooping up the mug and handing it to Emma. Emma took it and wordlessly followed Regina out of the kitchen and into her study where there was a thick door and no chance that Henry could possibly overhear them. "He's threatened."

"How do you figure?" Emma asked, taking a sip of the mug of spiced cider that Regina had made her. "I didn't think he seemed particularly threatened, just wanted me to know that he knew that I knew."

Pursing her lips, Regina crossed the room and stood by the fireplace. Emma watched her stand there, looking almost defeated in her reverie. "He wanted you to know that it wasn't him trying to kill you, dear."

Emma busied herself with her drink, sipping on the steaming liquid, grateful for the kick the whiskey gave it. "Then why say anything at all?"

"A good strategist knows when it's best to show something of your plans," Regina mused. "He taught me that, many years ago."

"He seemed to think that it was someone else, a third party," Emma set her mug down on the coffee table, scooting a coaster underneath it as Regina glared at it. "He mentioned the nuns as well."

Regina ran a hand through her hair tiredly, "I had worried about that. They were more his enemy than mine." She crossed the room and sat down next to Emma, not across as was her custom. There was a moment where her expression appeared conflicted, as if weighing the possibilities of what she should best be saying. "I saw Henry digging around in the trash today."

Ah, Emma had wondered if it would ever come to that. She wasn't about to lie to Regina about what had been seen, but she did resent being put in the middle of a mother-son conflict. "He found your spell?" Emma shrugged after she said it. She wasn't going to make a huge deal out of it, because it really wasn't that big a deal. "Or at least what he thought was a spell."

"He was right to think that," Regina reached into her pocket and pulled out a bracelet that looked like it had been made out of hemp, but upon closer inspection, Emma could see that it was actually a finely-woven series of... what looked like wires. "I wrote the spell for this - for him. It's a protection bracelet in case he encounters one of those fairy rings you say are now dotting the forest."

Emma took the bracelet and weighted it in her palm. "I thought you couldn't do magic," she said, trying to keep her tone accusatory. "I thought that was why you needed me."

"The curse is weakening, Emma, I can do a lot of things if I put my mind to it." Regina's eyes softened as she said this. Emma stared at her, trying to figure out what exactly that meant, and why she was so intrigued by it.

They were so close, the bracelet clutched in Emma's shaking hand, her eyes trained down on Regina's lips. This wasn't a time for talking, they were so close together and the magnetism that drew forth the sword from Regina's stone of a heart seemed to kept the momentum between them going.

Emma kissed Regina softly, with a tenderness she didn't know she possessed. Regina was there and the whiskey in her system was telling Emma that this was a fantastic idea. This was her queen, and she knew that this wasn't the sort of kiss that would bring forth that terrible sword and all that it implied.

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_What does it mean, to have a fairy as an enemy_?

People forget about fairies. They forget that they're old beings. They're neither good nor evil, they've been there since the dawn of time, and they don't intend to leave any time soon.

_For a land with no magic, this place sure has a lot of lore about them._

And that is the stumbling point of this tale, isn't it? We are at a crossroads where there are two things that weren't meant to happen. The queen is supposed to be evil and the White Knight is supposed to break the curse. The imp certainly is not supposed to be on any side by his own. And the fairies are supposed to remain as they always have been, an unknown quality that is neither good nor evil.

_But the White Knight knows of the stories?_

As do all children of this world without magic. They are raised on tales of imagination and hope and dreams, only to have them crushed as they venture into adult-hood. It is a cycle that bears repeating, for it is only through this that it can be broken.

_Then what comes next?_

Ask yourself, what would you do now?

* * *

And now the plot thickens. Sorry for the HUEG delay getting this out, you guys, I suck a lot of butt and probably shouldn't be writing 100+ page long fanfics. huge thanks to wickedpencils for her amazing drawings. Go check them out.

**Next: The Neutrality in Chaos**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven - The Neutrality in Chaos**

The traveler could not place the feeling of malcontent that she felt as she brushed down her horse and watched the witch move about the stable with the practiced ease of one who had spent many hours in the space, uninterrupted with conversation and curious eyes. She knew better than to let herself become complacent in the presence of one so powerful, and yet she wanted to rest. Her bones felt weary as she leaned against the back of her horse's borrowed stall.

"Fairies have never been my enemy," the witch's tone seemed to indicate that she was offering the information freely, rather than the terse exchange of information that had characterized their interaction up until this point. The traveler glanced over to where the dark-haired woman was standing, cloaked in the shadow of the stable. It was an interesting shift from the witch, and the traveler knew that she had to tread carefully so as to not upset this change in their conversation. Information offered freely was almost always better, long years of experience told the traveler this. "I have had dealings with them, but they have always been at the periphery of my life. Never at the center."

The traveler inclined her head judiciously. The old stories told a different story. They told the story of a desperate curse and the promise of favor that never quite came. "And the old tales?"

The witch raised an eyebrow, her face shifting into the sunlight that streamed dusty particles across the stable's dirt and straw covered-floor. "Tell me, princess, do you usually believe everything you're told?"

Answers were never so simple, and the traveler knew that. She hated the double speak of court life for that very reason. She never expected to find what she was looking for, after all. No, that had been nothing more than a wistful dream.

The traveler folded her arms across her chest. It felt empty without the heavy armor that protected her chest, the loose shirt she wore underneath it made her feel almost naked before this quicksilver woman's moods. The memory of lips against her own, the image of doing it before drifting like wood smoke on a winter morn in her mind's eye. She was trying to look defiant, petulant, a princess scorned even, but she knew that she just looked childish.

"I believe what I feel to be true," she retorted, chin stuck out and brow narrowed.

The witch laughed then, and the traveler could not help the smile that slowly crept across her face as she realized the inanity of her statement.

Throwing up her hands, the witch crossed more fully into the light, eyes crinkling at the corners. She looked so young in this light, so impossibly young compared to how _old_ the traveler knew her to be. It was the strangest sensation, to know and yet not know who this woman truly was. "I had dealings with the fairies once," the witch confided, her hand resting over her heart where the traveler could see a tangled and raised scar, stark white against the witch's tan skin. "Despite the repercussions," she trailed off, her eyes fixing the traveler with a hollow, searching look. "It turned out alright for me."

Uncomfortable under such an intense, the traveler shifted - her mind racing. There was meaning there, meaning that was hidden behind double-speak and implication. Her brow furrowed, fingers toying with a strand of hair, her arm half wrapped around herself as she tried to force her brain to comprehend what was being said.

Repercussions. That was the word that the witch had left loaded with meaning and implication. The traveler bit her lip, pensive as she met the witch's gaze evenly. "I'm glad that you were unharmed in the end," she said quietly, the words falling into place as her mind drifted slightly - still stuck on what those repercussions could be. "That wound could not have been easy to heal."

"All magic comes with a price, Princess," The witch's lips twitched into a ghost of a smile. "You of all people should know that." With a final searching look, she swept from the stable in a flurry of cloak and skirts and boots that scarcely made a sound on the ground as she stepped out into the rainy daylight.

Weak wintry sunlight streamed through the parted curtains and across Emma's face, pulling her from the dreams back into wakefulness. She shifted, grumbling under her breath as she tried to get away from the light. Her head ached, and as her eyes cracked open to stare around the now-familiar room her mind raced and she sat up quickly.

Cool air hit her legs and the events of the previous evening came rushing back to her in a flurry of emotion and memory. Regina had offered something and Emma had not thought twice about taking it at the time. Now though, sitting somewhat naked in Regina's bedroom, Emma found herself caught up in the nagging sense that she'd done something terribly wrong.

Maybe it was that Emma knew that Regina was one of the sorts of people who never did anything without meaning. What did it mean? Emma ran a tired hand through her hair and chewed on the inside of her cheek, thinking hard. Why would Regina let that happen? Regina was the picture of control - yet now as they entered this odd, collaborative sort of relationship, she seemed more and more out of the careful control she kept over her life.

At the edges of her vision, Emma could see the flickers of something that glittered in the sunlight streaming in through Regina's frost-covered windows. As she turned her head, it vanished, only to appear again, further out of her vision.

"That would be the magic, dear," Regina's voice cut through Emma frantic head turning and desperately curious thoughts. She was standing in the doorway, a coffee cup in hand and a robe hanging open over the shirt she had worn the previous evening and underwear. Emma swallowed, looking at her; remembering what had happened between them.

"The what?" Emma asked, bending off the side of the bed to reach for her underwear, tangled as they were with her jeans and socks on the flood there. Regina had said last night that the curse was weakening, and again Emma wondered why she'd cast it in the first place. to do what she had done, to hurt herself so badly - it must have taken almost inhuman desperation and Emma could not fathom how she would have found the strength to cast it.

Regina bent and picked up Emma's discarded shirt, crossing the room in sure steps and sitting down next to Emma. She handed over the shirt wordlessly and Emma was pleased to note the slight pink tint to Regina's cheeks as she (very pointed) did not look down at Emma's chest as Emma hurriedly pulled her shirt on over her head.

"Magic," Regina explained quietly. she looked down at her coffee cup for a long time before she brought it to her lips. Emma found herself distracted, watching as Regina's fingers moved easily over the gray porcelain as she drank the steaming liquid. It was strange to think of her like this, like the stony-faced mayor or cruel queen that Henry believed her to be. In the early morning sunlight she was open and friendly, and Emma wasn't quite sure how to handle it.

Swallowing, Regina continued, "The curse is weakening. I sense it, Gold senses it - I'm sure that the hangers-on sense it as well." Her eyes slid over to rest on Emma and her lips quirked upwards into a wry smile. "They probably sensed it as soon as you arrived, though." Regina seemed to shudder for a moment at the thought of the fairies and Emma desperately wanted to know what it meant to have a fairy for an enemy.

Emma looked away, unable to meet Regina's gaze. She turned to stare at out the window instead, watching as the sun caught the little frost patters at the corners of the windowpanes. She didn't want to be the person who shattered the uneasy peace of this place; she wasn't anyone's hero.

"Do you really think I'll break the curse?" Emma asked quietly, fingers knotting in the fabric of the sheets around her. She didn't want to know the answer, but Regina was being frank with her this morning, and Emma wasn't above asking for clarity.

Regina's laugh was gentle, but the hand that closed over Emma's bruised wrist was anything but. Emma's head snapped back to regard Regina's stormy eyes. "I don't doubt that you will," Regina said quietly. "And it will cost you dearly." She stood and crossed to the door and it felt as though there was a void next to Emma in the space where she had once been. "You need to be dressed and gone before Henry realizes that you're here."

Nodding, Emma reached for her pants and socks from where they still lay on the floor. She didn't know if this was going to happen again, or even if she wanted it to. She was mulling over what Regina had said, thinking again about how she'd been a fool to bring Henry back herself. Had she let it go, she would have still had all the questions in the world, but at least the answers wouldn't be spoken in riddles. Emma stood wearily and headed for the door, she figured that Regina would not want her to linger and she didn't care for the idea very much either.

That afternoon Henry turned up at the station once again after school. Emma had stopped by Mr. Gold's shop on the way to work and had picked up the copies of his inventory that he believed to be missing, as well as wheedled a few details out of him regarding why their being missing might be so important. She didn't know how much was a good idea to tell him, and she kept the arrangement between herself and Regina private.

What was missing was a fairly simple series of old drawings, sketches and schematics of the lands around the town from before it was chartered. Emma wasn't entirely sure why it was so important that _these_ particular papers needed to go missing, when they were probably a matter of public record in the archives. She'd said as much to Gold and he'd looked at her oddly for a long time before shrugging and adding that these were his own personal copies and he'd annotated them accordingly.

"To show the lay lines," He'd explained, leaning heavily on his cane, his face a perfect mask of neutrality. When Emma had looked at him with a more confused expression than before he'd shaken his head and had offered to make a deal with her for the information, but Emma had refused. What he'd wanted from her was an answer she didn't think she could give, and she knew that someone else might be more willing to share such knowledge.

Emma had gone to the town archives afterwards, making small photocopies of the original maps and chartered land to incorporate into the town. She sat, staring at them with knitted eyebrows as Henry came in and peered over her shoulder at them. "Why are you looking at maps?" he asked, setting his book bag down and shedding his coat and scarf. He scrambled around to get a better look at the pages and made a quiet noise of comprehension when Emma raised her hand slightly and let him take in the notes she'd written on the margin and the carefully inked places where she had found those damn rings that have started to dot the forest.

The first was to the north of town, where she'd killed the Minotaur. Emma wasn't sure, but she was willing to bet that that one was closed down now. She'd fallen across the fairy ring and had taken a great deal of the mushrooms that marked it with her as she'd fallen. Emma was just trying not to think about the bad luck that came with destroying such a precious thing.

Emma tapped her pen on the map and turned to regard Henry with what she hoped was a friendly and inviting smile. She didn't really know what she wanted to tell him, and he was flirting with the truth more and more with every passing moment. Swallowing she shrugged. "Mr. Gold lost some plans recently, he came and told me about them, and I thought I'd go to the archives and have a look at the originals to try and figure out why anyone would want to steal moldy old maps from him." She wrinkled her nose when she finished speaking and Henry's eyes widened slightly as he leaned forward to look at them once more.

"Is this from before the curse?" He asked quietly after a moment, trailing his fingers almost reverently over the southern line of the town, where Maine Route 175 was marked in clear architect's script. The town was chartered, as Emma had discovered when she'd spoken to the archivist, in the twenties as a coastal resort town and had gone bankrupt during the Depression. It had revived somewhat during the fifties and sixties, but a little over a decade later, things had simply _stopped. _Stopped because the people of this town were taken over by a curse, but Emma didn't think that the poor archivist needed to know that.

"Uh huh," Emma nodded, she didn't wasn't lying to Henry, which was a strange feeling. She knew that it was one of those things where she certainly wasn't telling him everything, just enough to reassure him. She bit her lip and added, "I think that's why Mr. Gold was so worried about them, because they'd be copies of very old documents and probably very old themselves."

"Henry," Emma said quietly, "Do you remember the story in the book where Rumpelstiltskin and the fairies first met?"

He tilted his head to one side, thinking for a moment before he nodded. "I do… but why do you want to know?"

Wiggling her eyebrows conspiratorially, Emma grinned at him, "I think I figured out who the some of the fairies are, talking to Mr. Gold."

Interest blossomed across his face and he set his hands on the table, his flannel shirt sleeves riding up to reveal the thin twisted bracelet that Regina had showed him the night before. Emma's breath caught and she reached out to touch it without thinking, feeling it almost resonate against her fingers as the magic curled there. She could see it, even now. Flickering bright and friendly purple around his wrist.

"Who?" Henry demanded, dragging his shirtsleeve down once more. Emma could see the slight flush on his cheeks and she knew that it had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with being nearly eleven. She remembered little boys from her own not-so-happy childhood, she knew how they could get with objects of affection from anyone important in their lives.

"I think they're the nuns," Emma replied. She sighed and didn't addthe thought that came to mind next. That Gold was Rumpelstiltskin and that there was far more going on in this god-forsaken town then Henry had picked up on. The attacks of these creatures had to mean something – and the fairy rings were only an indication of that. "The ones that run your school. I think their mother superior might be the Blue Fairy, but I can't be sure."

His eyes widened at the pronouncement, but Henry said nothing for a moment. He appeared lost in thought, his eyes unfocused and staring off into the middle distance. Emma watched him as he worried at his shirt sleeve, all childish nervous energy and worry etched clearly onto his face. "Emma," he said gravely. "Rumpelstiltskin and the fairies don't get along very well."

Emma nodded, because Regina had told him that much. "And they were never really the Evil Queen's enemy, were they?" She was thinking out loud now, recalling what Regina had said to her the night before.

Henry hesitated for a moment before nodding. "I think that that happened a long time before the book took place – like in Harry Potter, there's all that backstory about Snape and Harry's mom – stuff like that," he explained, seeming to choose his words carefully as he spoke. "Ms. Blanchard was teaching us about it in language arts last week, she called it _backstory_."

Sometimes, Emma found herself forgetting that Henry was only ten years old. Nearly eleven, yes, but just ten and some parts of life were still so alien to him. Emma didn't even think that he might not know what the concept of backstory was, she'd just assumed that everyone knew it, like who the president was or that whole deal with George Washington and the cherry tree and lying. Emma hated that she wasn't able to do these things for him, to provide him with the information and knowledge that he might need. The bracelet on Henry's wrist was another reminder of that.

Emma closed her eyes and thought about the look on Regina's face when she'd been so openly honest about wanting to create a magical object to protect Henry. It was strange to see her like that, so absolutely devoted to Henry in a way that Emma could never stomach being. She was afraid of growing close to him even now, because the very idea of living through breaking a curse that had taken so much from Regina to cast seemed like a very foreign concept.

"She told you right," Emma grinned, and nudged him in the shoulder. It was a gamble now, but she had to risk it. "Your mom – _and the evil queen -_ has one of those too, you know."

Henry opened his mouth to protest, but closed it after a moment. He reached forward and picked up Emma's slightly gnawed on pen, moving to a point south of town, down near the waterfront where his castle had once been. "I saw a fairy ring rightttt about," he trailed the pen down and tapped it gently, "Here."

Saying nothing about Henry's change to tact, Emma takes the pen and draws in a little circle, an idea already forming in her mind. What if the reason that Gold was suddenly so desperate to get those missing plans back is because they would show where such portals would hold the most power. Emma supposed that if there was a way other than true love to break a curse, it would be to find its weak points and break it through them, sort of like how one would go about breaking into a safe. Not that Emma knew anything about that, though. Not at all.

"What's your homework situation look like, kid?" Emma asked, after notating the map a little bit more thoroughly with what Henry had seen.

Grudgingly, Henry pulled his math book from his backpack and set about doing his assigned problem sets while Emma leaned back in her chair and thought about why Mr. Gold would keep such a convenient document around. He wasn't supposed to remember anything, if Regina's words were to be believed about the curse in and of itself. But, Emma reasoned, he'd also been the one to write it, so there was a good chance that there were other clauses built into it. Clauses that made Emma wonder what Gold could possibly want with a world like this one.

Staring out into the weak afternoon sunlight, Emma wondered why Regina had cast the curse at all. Had she done it for him, or had she been so enraged with her life circumstances that she'd cast it purely for herself? Why hadn't she just left her life behind? What was really stopping her?

The questions swirled around in Emma's mind as the afternoon dragged on into early evening. Emma didn't say anything when Regina turned up at the station to collect Henry and even managed to shove a smile on her face at the harassed look Regina gave her as Henry chattered amiably about the latest developments in _Harry Potter _and his comics at her. But just as soon as Regina was there, she was gone again, leaving Emma alone in the cold police station, staring down at a cup of cold coffee and a map that didn't hold many answers.

Her lips turned downwards into a scowl and she reached for her jacket, running after Regina and Henry into the cold. They were still getting into the car, Regina holding Henry's heavy backpack and moving towards the back seat as he climbed into the front.

"Hey," Emma half-shouted across the street. She jogged up to Regina, half-zipping her coat and trying not to ignore the curious looks she was getting from the other passers-by on the street. She hadn't ever really cared all that much for ceremony and putting on airs. Everyone knew that her relationship with Regina was a constantly changing one – and it was currently on the upswing.

Regina set Henry's bag into the back seat and closed the door with a quiet thunk as Emma shoved her hands into too small jean pockets. "What can I do for you, Sheriff?" she asked quietly.

Knowing that Henry could possibly be listening in, Emma bit the inside of her cheek and inclined her head back towards the station. "I have that form for you to sign," she lied quietly, her eyes silently pleading with Regina to go along with the ruse. Henry would be fine in the car for two minutes. "And I gotta put it in the mail today if I'm going to get it to Augusta on time."

The slight furrowing of Regina's eyebrows was soon replaced by realization and she nodded once, curtly. "Henry," she said quickly. "Ms. Swan has forgotten that I need to sign a document for her that must be mailed tonight, do you mind waiting for a moment?"

When he shook his head and climbed over the backseat to pull his _Harry Potter_ book out of his backpack. Emma smiled, secretly glad that he wasn't reading and obsessing over the book. "Come on," Emma said quietly. Glancing both ways, she jogged back across the street and into the relative warmth of the station.

"Look-" Emma began, but Regina cut her off with a raised hand. The words died in Emma's throat and she scowled, hating how Regina was always able to do that.

"What have you figured out that has you all ready to run off into the woods unprotected again?" Regina demanded, folding her arms across her chest and raising an eyebrow that dared Emma to disagree with her assessment of the situation.

"Henry figured it out, actually," Emma gestured to the map on her desk and the two points that were marked with where she knew there were fairy rings. "I stopped by Gold's on my way in this morning, and he volunteered some more information about his missing documents. Seems that he'd kept a chart with the lay lines, whatever those were – he wouldn't tell me without making a deal for it – that run through the town on it."

"And now his hangers-on have it," Regina's expression as positively murderous. "Lay lines are the natural energy patterns and inherent magic that fills all lands – even this one," she explained when Emma dropped her hand to the map.

"Then the fairy rings are appearing at their weak points," Emma said tiredly. "I'd be willing to bet a good bit on it," she added, rubbing unconsciously at the bruise that still encircled her wrist. It had dulled to a low ache overnight and while it looked nasty, it didn't hurt that much at all.

"Find the others," Regina said quietly, opening the folder that really did have that document that needed to be signed and signing it with only a slightly disgusted look on her face at the bite marks that dotted the cap of Emma's pen. "Tell me about them tonight."

Emma stepped forward then, into Regina's personal space, "Will there be a tonight?"

"You overstep your bounds, Ms. Swan," Regina replied coolly.

Shrugging, Emma made to step back, but Regina's hand shot out and wrapped around her non-injured wrist. The touch sent a shiver of something that Emma could not quite place through her body, and the gentle flickers of white magic that she'd finally started to get used to seeing intensified and pooled around Regina as Regina pulled her in closer.

The lips on her own were quick, not the sort of kisses that Emma remembered from the night before, but there was just the barest hint of something _more_ there that made Emma want to keep kissing Regina like this, even though she knew she couldn't.

A gentle white light filled the room and Emma reached forward and into it instinctively, fingers closing around smooth leather and cool metal. She never understood why it was never hot, residing inside a woman who lived and breathed. The sword felt good in her hands, right. She stared down at it and then raised hesitant eyes back up to Regina. Regina nodded once, and then swept from the office in a swirl of coat and scarf and the tell-tale click of her boots on the scuffed linoleum flooring.

db

The fairy ring the shore was thankfully not active like the one that had spawned the Minotaur was. Emma stood before it in the growing twilight, sword in one hand, flashlight in the other. She knew how to close such portals. She'd done it in her dreams many times over it seemed and she wished she could remember where the skill had come from. Groaning in frustration, Emma clicked off the flashlight and shoved the cold metal into the back pocket of her jeans, ignoring the press of it against her ass and scowling down at the fairy ring.

She'd completed three circuits around the downtown area on foot and had located two more rings in very public places. Leroy had happened upon her, the car blanket that she'd wrapped the sword in drawing nothing but raised eyebrows from him as he regarded her and then remarked on the location of a third ring. On the photocopy of the map that Emma had jammed into her jacket's tiny pocket, there was a pattern that was starting to emerge, a six pointed star, with rings on the inside shaped like a hexagram and the outside triangles hosting points outwards. Emma was sure that it held some significance to magic uses, but she couldn't think of any of her teenage perusal of _Buffy_ that might have prepped her for this very odd situation.

The sword was warm in her hands now, with the growing darkness Emma had left the blanket in her car and had stolen through the shadows Storybrooke, watching through windows as the clock struck eight. "Come on, Winkie," She muttered to herself, leveling the sword at the ring before her and sliding back into a ready stance.

Doing this came naturally, but it still felt decidedly unnatural as she raked the sword through the soft earth around the circle of toadstools, drawing a pentagram backwards as she did so. She had no idea what the significance of _that_ was, but as she marked each line, the sword in her hands began to glow with the same soft white light that appeared when the sword was drawn from the ice queen's chest. When the sword glowed with the magical strength of whatever it was that Emma was doing here – spell breaking she figured, but she wasn't entirely sure – it was easier. The portals were terrifying when they were open, a window into another world, and Emma wasn't entirely sure that it was the sort of place that she'd ever want to be. The land of her dreams was one thing; but this place seemed dark, full of fire and death. Mordor or even hell itself.

Grunting, Emma drew the glowing sword downwards in a sharp arc, embedding it into the still-soft soil within the ring. There were no magic words, there was nothing but the defiant action of stabbing what could only be considered to be a poisoned blade into the center of the circle and marveling as the mushrooms, interloping markers that they were, shriveled to black and faded away into nothing.

The act itself didn't take much effort, but after closing the three of them that she'd found, as well as the minotaur's – which was more challenging as it was actually open, Emma was beyond drained. She slowly made her way back to her car and shoved the sword into the back seat, hoping that whatever magic that made it disappear would vanish it before the morning came and she took Henry to school. She didn't want to explain to him that yes, he was right about everything, but Jesus, the world _that _wasn't black and white. No that would come later. She wanted to talk to Regina about it anyway; the kid was flirting with the truth as it was.

The smell of roasted rosemary and something savory filled Mary Margaret's apartment as Emma stepped inside and wearily exchanged her muddy boots for the house shoes that Mary Margaret insisted that she wear. The floor got cold; it wasn't smart to walk around barefoot on it. Emma had rolled her eyes at the time, but she was right, the house shoes made all the difference when she was wandering around.

"Hey," she said brightly, glancing from Mary Margaret to David as they sat at the kitchen island, talking in low voices while Mary Margaret poked a meat thermometer into the roast that had been pulled from the oven and set onto the top of the stove. "Whatcha cookin'?"

"Pot roast," Mary Margaret said after an odd, almost searching look at Emma. If Emma was being completely honest, Mary Margaret looked as though she'd seen a ghost for a second, before she shook herself out of whatever it was and went back to jabbing the roast with the thermometer she had in hand. "And chard," she added hopefully.

Emma wrinkled her nose, scowling at the idea of having to eat even _more_ of that awful leafy stuff. She missed southern cooking – at least collards tasted good, but these were like the ugly step cousin twice removed of anything even remotely good tasting. "I'll give 'em another try." Emma heaved a long-suffering sigh and slid onto the seat next to David and rested her elbows on the island in a gesture mirroring his own.

Something, Emma couldn't quite put her finger on what, was very odd with this situation. She wasn't sure if it was Mary Margaret's expression when she'd first walked in, or if it was the fact that she'd waltzed into date night between a married man and Emma's poor best friend who had fallen hard and fast for him. Something just didn't feel quite right.

"How've you been," She asked, turning to David and trying to not judging him too harshly. From all that Henry had surmised from the book, the reason that David had been hurt and unconscious for so long was he had been wounded in the other world, trying to get Emma herself to safety. It seemed ridiculous, but Henry was pretty convinced that the curse didn't quite as much power over him as it did some of the other people in town. "Animal Shelter still standing?"

David shrugged and picked up his water glass, taking a quick, almost panicked sip before he seemed to come to himself and leaned forward, curious. "Leroy said you were wandering around town with a rifle earlier, is there a bear about?"

Shit.

Emma tried to keep her features as neutral as she could arrange and slowly shook her head. "We got a few calls in about a potentially rabid dog. I didn't want to take any chances – no biggie." She waved her hand dismissively. "I would have called you in if it was a bear. I'd need to borrow your tranq gun."

"Or better yet, let me use it," David said with a good natured roll of his eyes. "As I have some experience with that sort of thing."

"I'm sure," Emma said with an easy grin.

She knew what it was that was off then, and it was the realization of it itself that shocked her into what she could only call forcible denial. This, this more so than anything else, this felt like a family. It felt like a real, good-natured family, rather than three friends eating together and very pointedly not talking about the elephant in the form of Kathryn in the room.

The very idea of it threw Emma. She'd known, she'd put it together and Regina had bitterly confirmed it. She'd put it all together and it still felt _weird. _They should be so easy, they shouldn't fit.

Family wasn't supposed to be this easy.

Later that night, Emma had stepped out into the frozen night, her phone cradled to her ear as she waited for Regina to pick up. After three rings, the reply came, and Emma felt herself crumpling. Regina _hated_ Snow White and Prince Charming and was certainly not the warm and fuzzy type with anyone other than Henry on a good day.

Regina was someone to her though. It wasn't a relationship of equals, but rather something that Emma understood intrinsically. A give and take, an exchange of power and information as needed. She'd find the rest of the fairy rings tomorrow morning, but for now, she needed this far more.

"They're remembering," Emma said with an over-dramatic sigh, her breath curling around her face in the harsh winter air. "And I don't know what to do."

Regina didn't reply for a long time, her quiet breathing the only indication that she was even still present on the line. Finally, just as Emma was about to say something more, Regina's voice came calm and cool. "I have no doubt that they are. With each ring that crops up, the curse grows weaker, and with each one you destroy, it stabilizes. As you do this there will be flashes – repercussions."

Emma bit her lip and shifted from foot to foot. "Are you saying that it would be better to not destroy them then?"

"No, they have to be destroyed or all manner of beings might turn up here. As good a knight as you are, Ms. Swan, I do not believe that you could take on whole armies of magical beasts you know next to nothing about," Regina paused and then asked, "How many did you find?"

"Four. I was able to figure out the pattern though. I want you to look at the map more closely, we might be able to predict where they'll crop up and see if we can't catch them in the act of making them." Emma nodded resolutely, as it seemed like a good plan.

"And were you able to destroy them?" Regina inquired quietly.

And this was where Emma was unsure. Nothing made sense when it came to how she knew how to draw out the magic from the fairy rings and dispel it. If it were anyone else, Emma would have lied and said she guessed it, but Regina knew about her dreams enough to recognize that they were probably something far more profound than just simple creations of Emma's sleeping mind.

"I did it in my dream a few nights ago," Emma replied, stomping her feet as the cold breezeway of Mary Margaret's apartment was suddenly a whole hell of a lot colder than Emma was anticipating. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself in Mary Margaret's over-sized anorak. "I figured it'd be worth a try."

"Quite," Regina replied.

Emma desperately wanted to bring up the other thing that they'd done, but she knew that doing that would be stupid right now. Regina would talk when she was ready to talk and not a moment sooner. She stared off into the middle distance, her eyes unfocused and her concentration half-on the sense memory of Regina's fingers against her stomach. She'd been so plaint, so willing to let Emma take and to give. It was a strange look on a woman usually so forceful, but Emma found that she rather liked it. It softened Regina somewhat, and made her seem almost human.

"Which is reality then?" she asked quietly, thinking of the dreams that had plagued her since arriving here and how they were a perfect life, just not her own. She almost hated that life, the traveler and the horse in the woods and the little boy and his witch-mother. It all seemed so surreal, but so close to being true to her life now that Emma wasn't how to read into it. It felt like it could all be a terrible, bad dream – and yet it wasn't. There was something that felt so _true_ about those dreams that Emma couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that they carried far more weight than Regina was letting on. "Am I awake now, or am I dreaming?"

Regina hummed quietly into the phone and said nothing, the comfortable silence stretching out forever between them as the stars glowed brightly overhead.

db

_So tell me, why does our traveler know so much and yet so little?_

_Well they say it's a price that must be paid._

_But what could possibly have come so high?_

_True love, silly – that's how this works._

* * *

an: Sorry for the delay here. During the time off I've written and published two short novels, written like a bazillion words of Harry Potter fic and really have slacked the fuck off. I'm going to start to move this story over to Ao3 once it's finished, there should only be three more parts and an epilogue.

Emma calls herself Winkie, after Wee Willy Winkie, who runs through the town in Mother Goose books at eight o'clock.

Next: The Curse and the Hangers-On


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve - The Curse and the Hangers-On**

The little boy knew the forest like the back of his hand. He led the traveler through gullies and around rock formations and hidden dales and meadows on a path so intricate that it made her head spin and ache. He laid no breadcrumbs or shiny white pebbles, but moved through the woods with an ease that the traveler knew that she herself possessed in the woods closer to home. She was an outsider here though, she knew that. The forest was cold and unrelenting, and a steady rain fell down around them as the little boy gathered his mushrooms and herbs for his mother.

She'd offered to go with him, and the rain had started when they'd been out for scarcely half an hour. He'd continued on, unperturbed, and the traveler had struggled to keep up with him over the slippery ground. In a place like this she didn't dare take her hand off of the hilt of her sword. She stood prepared and ready, even now as the little boy bent and used a small knife to cut from the bottom branches of a nondescript looking plant. He whispered words as he did so, words in the old language that the traveler had no head for. They were words of faith, words that she didn't think one such as the witch would ever possess.

The traveler had lost her faith long ago, and she was sure that one with as torrid a story as the witch would have lost her own in a similar fashion. She could not stomach the idea of losing all that the woman who had once been the queen had lost. She had no idea how the witch was able to raise this child in this cottage in the woods, away from all who thought her heart blacker than night. Here, there was a sense of freedom, and the traveler knew that here, in this black forest, the witch had found her heart once more.

Tripping and stumbling, the traveler followed the little boy deeper into the woods, muttering curses as her boots slipped on slick ground. She glanced down for a moment, wondering where on earth he'd learned to be so sure-footed on moss-covered, wet rocks. When the traveler looked back up, her feet more firmly planted on the ground than they'd been since the rain had started, the little boy was gone.

The traveler stepped forward hurriedly, her cloak billowing out around her as she tried to catch sight of the boy once more. She didn't even know his name – she realized in that desperate moment. She didn't even know where he could have gone.

Through a break in the trees, the little boy came into view once more, and the traveler's worried breathing and panicked heartbeat calmed. Splattered in mud, he stood in the middle of a small clearing. His head was turned up to catch the icy droplets of rain on his round cheeks, his cloak hood forgotten at his back. The traveler stayed back, watching him revel in the rain. She didn't want him to get sick, the witch would never forgive her for allowing him to behave in such a way, but the little boy seemed absolutely impervious to the cold.

"Once, I hated my mother," he said. With his basket clenched in one fist and his cheeks streaked with rain water, he looked like a true child of the forest. He was probably only five summers old, but the pieces tumbled into place for the traveler, and her eyes widened. She could see him at eleven, at fifteen. This was a place where he could grow to manhood happy and content, away from all that would plague him throughout the kingdom.

"Why?" The traveler asked, pulling at her own cloak and stepping into the clearing. She couldn't imagine a child ever hating their mother - it didn't make sense. Mothers were the most powerful creatures of all. Everyone knew that the magic of a mother was something wondrous – to _hate_ a mother...

The little boy's wide brown eyes leveled with the traveler's green, and there was a spark of recognition there. His cheekbones were so similar to the traveler's own mother – the _queen's_ that the traveler's breath caught. She should not be seeing her mother in this child of an absolute stranger, there had been a familial relationship there once, but it was gone, a memory of a terrible time in the forest's history. "It was a different life," he confessed quietly, muddy fingers pulling at his hood and shaking the water from his hair. "And I didn't understand what was happening."

"The curse she nearly cast?" The stories that the traveler had learned from her nurse and then her tutors had been fantastic and all the children of this land knew of the implications of what might have happened, had that curse succeeded in being cast. They would have all been doomed to a life where there was no magic, no love, and no happy endings.

The traveler didn't believe in happy endings. Her soul was cursed twice-over, wanderlust and a promise she couldn't remember. A third curse on top of that would have been entirely too much. She swallowed and looked away, trying not to think about how the wanderlust had faded to almost nothing since she'd come to the witch's clearing in the corner.

The little boy looked at her strangely for a moment, before he shrugged. "In a way," he said at length, "yes."

Sleepily, Emma reached out into cold and empty air, fingers desperate to touch the child in her dreams. Morpheus slipped away once more and she cracked an eye open, a scowl etched firmly onto her face.

_Again. That dream._

She could never remember the faces in her dreams, not any more. Before she'd come to Storybrooke, the faces in her dreams were playful reminders that she could someday sell the stories in her dreams as a successful novel – but now it was just question after question that added to the great confusion of her life already.

Blinking, Emma peered around at her surroundings, the low light and dark wood reminded her where she was and she hurriedly sat up. "Regina?" she called, peering around the room owlishly and wondering how it was that she'd managed to fall asleep while Regina was in mid-rant about Gold and his fairies.

The room was silent and still, full of the gentle sound of the furnace in the basement and the soft patter of icy rain outside. Emma scowled at it, knowing that if the roads were anything like the state of Regina's front walk, she would not be driving home until daylight. In the streetlights outside, the world seemed to flow and shimmer, a thin coating of ice encasing everything. Emma shivered despite herself and scrambled to her feet.

Wrapping her arms around herself, Emma noted the fire in the grate and moved closer to it, shivering again, this time more violently as she stood by the warm orange flames. Regina's study was the sort of place where – in another life - Emma could picture herself spending hours inside, reading and being left alone with her thoughts and a good glass of scotch. This wasn't that life, this was something else entirely. All that she was left with was a twisted sort of approximation of what might have been and the dreams of where it all started haunting her every sleeping moment.

"You fell asleep," Regina's voice came from the doorway, and she stepped into view. Her feet were bare and she held a cup of steaming, apple-smelling liquid in her hands. Emma's nostrils flared at the smell of it, enticed by the scent of apples and the memory of a story so old it felt like an almost Disney-ified myth to her. It all seemed so funny that the once evil queen would love nothing more than her apple tree and the great creations she could draw from its fruit. Apples were supposed to represent death in that story, death and ill-intentions, not the innocent flick of wide brown eyes that settled on Emma's pensive expression.

Emma didn't understand, still.

She turned back to face the fire and wrapped her arms more tightly around herself, a scowl pulling her lips downwards she thought about all that Regina had said to her in the previous weeks. There were so many secrets that lurked just beneath the surface of this town that it made Emma's head hurt, and she had more questions than she did answers, most of the time. "How did the sword get stuck in your chest," she asked quietly. Her voice sounded alien to her now, full of uncertainty and none of the confidence of her dreams.

Regina said nothing for a long time. The room seemed to warm as Regina shut the door behind her and crossed to her desk. She set the mug in her hands down on the slate coaster that sat neatly by the stack of papers that she and Emma had been discussing before it had been time for Henry to go to sleep and Emma had drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

"At your parent's wedding," Regina's voice was like a whisper, just barely audible over the sound of the merrily crackling fire. The rain pattered against the window and Emma bowed her head, turning to face Regina. Perhaps she had overstepped her place, but she wanted to know, and Regina was in a position to tell her. The free exchange of information had gotten them this far, even if Emma knew that they were not equals. She held just enough power to keep herself safe. Regina (and Gold's too, she supposed) focus was on other things. It meant that situations like this would occur, and Emma would be able to try and find the answers she so desperately needed.

Regina looked closed-off and worried, not unlike how she had been when she'd lead Emma into the forest to kill the Minotaur. She leaned against her desk, resting on her palms and staring down at her feet. If Emma hadn't known better, she would have said that Regina looked ashamed, almost, having to admit the truth at all. "I was not invited…" she shook her head and Emma wondered if that was somehow far more of a slight in that world than it was on earth. People didn't get invited to weddings all the time; it was just a part of life. And weddings were really expensive and generally awful, so Emma almost understood why.

"So?" Emma asked. Her tone was even, but there was the barest hint of amusement in it. "I mean, if I were in your position I wouldn't have gone at all."

Regina's laugh was short and barking, the sort of laugh that is more a pained expression of amusement and not really in good humor at all. "That simply was not _done_, Ms. Swan," she explained slowly. "I was a queen, even if I was not on the best of terms with James' father's country, I was still a queen, and I had a connection to the bride – no matter how tenuous."

Running a tired hand through her hair, Emma sighed. "Why does it matter, though, really?"

"Perhaps I simply wanted to declare my intentions publicly," Regina said with a small shrug, her back ramrod straight. She turned and picked up her steaming mug of what Emma could only conclude to be cider. "Ruin their chance at a happy honeymoon, if you will." She quirked an eyebrow at this statement and Emma felt herself scowl in return.

"I won't," Emma folded her arms across her chest, her scowl deepening. "I still don't understand why you cast the curse in the first place, especially if it wasn't really even yours to begin with."

Her lips drew into a hard line, and the amusement of her previous, mocking statement was all but gone when Regina pushed herself forward once more. She stood before Emma, barefoot and with the full command of a queen. "You forget your place," she hissed, eyes narrowing. "You are _mine; _you are here to serve _me. _It is not your duty to question my judgment."

Emma stood defiant. The urge to back away, to fall to her knees, to beg forgiveness from this woman she'd somehow earned the favor of was so strong that her hands clenched into fists. Emma's fingernails cut into her palms with the effort of not doing what it was that her body so desperately longed to do. They'd been doing so well, more like equals and allies, less like master and servant.

But that was what they were.

"I…" Emma looked down at her trembling fist, clenched as it was at her side and swallowed. She turned to stare once more into the fire, the words and emotions behind them just barely surprised beneath the surface of calm she'd learned long ago – years before any of this seemed viable. "I just want to understand majesty," and she winced at the title, knowing that it did not exist in this world, but knowing that it must be said. "Nothing more, nothing less."

Regina seemed to contemplate this for a minute before she sighed. There was a slight rustling of papers and then Regina was standing beside Emma, her body not touching Emma's at all, but it was a close thing. Emma breathed deeply at the scent of magic that surrounded Regina even now, so far removed from that time and that place. "Maybe," Regina trailed off, her expression pensive. "Maybe there is no understanding why. I did it because I felt I had no other choice. I took your father's sword into my heart because I liked the pain and the reminder of who I was and how black my heart was."

"And your favor?" Emma didn't dare hope for a response, but it was worth a try anyway.

With a quiet chuckle, Regina's shoulder brushed against Emma's and Emma turned to look at her. "You've earned it now, but at first… I needed a knight - a _savior_, even - and you were there."

"Henry thinks that I have to kill you to break the curse," Emma replied bitterly, thinking of all the times that she'd tried to convince him that she could never do that. That there was black and white, but when they mixed there was always grey.

Regina's eyes closed slowly, and her lips parted in a quiet exhalation that Emma knew had nothing to do with their conversation and everything to do with the sheer _weight_ of it all. The secrets of this town were heavy, and Emma felt them dragging on her even now. She couldn't imagine what it must feel like for Regina, the only other person who truly _knew_.

"He just might be right, dear."

db

Regina cleared her schedule for the afternoon to inspect the town's charter and to hopefully make some more educated guesses as to where more of the fairy rings might crop up. Emma had dropped her off by the archivist's office and had turned the car around on a whim, heading towards the outskirts of town, where the nunnery was. She had no idea why a small town in Maine had needed a nunnery, for it was so far removed from anything that even approached a religious center. She supposed that nuns liked nature, just like everyone else who lived in this terrible town.

As she drove, she wondered how easy it would be to tell the Mother Superior that she was there to seek some sort of guidance about Henry. It was a reasonable enough reason to detour out into the country, especially if she stuck to the story about the rabid dog and the not-rifle that was running rife through the town at the moment. Emma's jaw hardened, chewing hard on the inside of her cheek she pressed the gas, urging the cruiser into a higher gear and wishing desperately that it was a stick and not a slow-to-shift automatic.

All the signs seemed to point to the hangers on being responsible for what was happening. They weren't supposed to be there in the first place. She was sure that Gold had his reasons, and Regina's non-answers to Emma's demands of _why_ were enough to convince Emma that Regina at least seemed to have some want to be in this world without magic. Still, the magic was ever-present, even now. Emma could feel it prickling around her, flashing at the corner of her eye and distracting her from the icy road. There was salt and sand down, but Emma had learned to drive in a place where it didn't snow very much at all.

At the thought of her childhood, Emma shook her head violently. She had spent the better part of the last few days trying to ignore the nagging feeling of longing every time she happened to see Mary Margaret and David together. The curse was starting to weaken, and Emma was convinced that it was their closeness, rather than Regina's magic coming in fits and spurts, that was the tell-tale sign. Perhaps the giant mythical creatures and the fact that she could pull a sword from Regina's heart were also pretty good indicators, but even now, all Emma could think of was the look of pain in Regina's eyes when the sword was yanked free. Regina was so relieved when it was gone, and she seemed to soften around the edges.

Gravel crunched under the cruiser's wheels as Emma turned into the drive that led to the worn but well-maintained Victorian that served as a home for the town's more spiritually inclined. There were lights on against the dim afternoon light. Emma parked and pulled her hat down over her ears, grateful for the thick parka that she got to wear when she was on duty. The day had turned frigid, and the clouds had grown darker and darker as the morning had progressed. Regina had said it would storm soon, and with it would come the snow.

It was November in Maine, Emma supposed, it happen sooner rather than later.

Her breath fogged as she got out of the car and half-jogged over to the door. The nunnery was technically open to the public, but Emma knocked out of habit, as it was also a residence. After a few minutes of shivering on the stoop, a round-cheeked nun whose name Emma didn't know opened the door. She ushered Emma into a bright vestibule and asked that she please leave her coat and service weapon at the door. Emma complied hesitantly, trying to ignore the long-searching looks that the woman was giving her as she took the proffered hanger and settled her coat on it. She stuffed her scarf, hat and service weapon (after she'd double checked the safety) down the sleeve of her coat and put it in the closet without a wood.

The vestibule was cold still, and when Emma was let into the house proper, the warm air burned her lungs as she sucked it in gratefully. "I was wondering if I could talk to the Mother Superior?" Emma asked mildly, glancing around the hallway and peering up the stairs briefly, wondering if it was more communal space or bedrooms on the second floor. "The school said that she was here today when I called."

The nun (was it Astrid or something? It was something weird, Emma knew that) blinked, her eyes widening a little bit in what Emma could only surmise to be surprise. "Yes," she covered hurriedly, her expression returning to that bright, neutral sort of smile that all the nuns that Emma had ever met in her life had possessed. She wondered if it came from being married to God or something, because it was a little creepy if she was honest. "I'll go see if she has a minute to talk to you, Sheriff Swan."

Emma watched her go and shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, deciding that she would also mention the 'rabid dog' and ask if there had been anything strange or unusual in the woods around the house here. She supposed that it wasn't the best reason to be out here, but it was reasonable enough. Emma had worked far less for far more in the past.

Five minutes later, Emma was hurried into a small first-floor office space. The Mother Superior was sitting behind a large, rather imposing-looking desk, a stack of paperwork in front of her, and several reference books open in front of her. "Sheriff Swan," she said, standing and offering Emma her hand.

Emma shook it firmly, "Mother Superior." She didn't know the woman's name, and she didn't think it was right to ask. She shifted from foot to foot after the woman released her hand. It felt strange, she wasn't a kid any more, but the woman still had that severe look about her.

Swallowing, Emma took the chair that the woman indicated.

"What brings you here today," the Mother Superior asked. Her reddish brown hair was curling at her forehead – like she'd been out into a humid southern summer and she looked absolutely exhausted. Emma shifted forward in her chair slightly, one palm resting on the seat between her legs, desperate to keep her leg from bouncing up and down.

"I was in the area," Emma began. She glanced towards the window, out towards the growing storm. "We've had a few reports of a potentially rabid dog about town," she explained. "I'd initially wanted to catch you at the school, but when I called they said you were here, so I figured I might as well stop by and see if you'd seen anything strange in the woods." It was the sort of question that Emma couldn't phrase quite right. She knew that Regina or Gold would have a hidden barb full of implications and lots of I-know-what-you-did behind studied innocence. She wasn't really like that, though. Her belief was in straight talk, in cutting through the layers of bullshit to get through the truth.

Naturally, coming to Storybrooke had _really_ harshed Emma's mellow when it came to that. She needed a cypher to understand half of what was said in this town.

The Mother Superior, apparently, was going to be no exception. She glanced towards the window as well, her brow furrowing in what Emma guessed was concentration. "No," she said slowly. She set folded her fingers together on the desk in front of her and slid her gaze back over to Emma. "I haven't seen any _dogs_ in the woods. Just your usual, run of the mill, forest creatures." She inclined her head to one side. "Have you spoken to Mr. Nolan? I know that he's probably the best woodsman we have; now that Sheriff Graham is gone." With the mention of him, she absently crossed herself.

Backwards.

Emma couldn't help the tiny little gasp that escaped her lips as she recognized that the familiar and age-old gesture was incorrect. She forced herself to show no other reaction, her features schooled impressively neutral and a small smile on her face. "I spoke to him two nights ago, actually. He's been on the lookout as well – checking any strays that come into the shelter."

"Hummm," the Mother Superior hummed in agreement and Emma found herself hesitating. She didn't know if this was just play acting, or if she genuinely was hesitating. At this point she just was looking for a segue into discussing Henry and this woman was giving her next to nothing to work with. She frowned, biting on the inside of her lip. "Was there something else, Sheriff?"

The question pulled Emma from her thoughts and she jumped, slightly startled. Focusing her attention back on the Mother Superior, Emma could see that her eyebrow was raised in a half-questioning look. Emma sighed and rubbed the back of her head. "Sorry, I was just wondering if I could talk to you about Henry for a minute…"

"I don't have much direct contact with the students in my school, Sheriff. I'm more of an administrator," the Mother Superior replied, but there was a kind smile on her face. "But I can try to help."

Emma found herself grinning awkwardly back at it, feeling somehow self-conscious under her gaze.

There was something in the Mother Superior's eyes that was throwing Emma. It wasn't contempt, or even that spark of knowledge that she'd seen in David's eyes over dinner a few days ago. No, it was something that Emma had seen many, many times in her life. She couldn't stand those looks when she was a kid, and she couldn't stand it now. Pity was never an emotion that Emma understood. Pity, to her, was antithetical of her entire life experience. She'd been pitied her whole life, and yet no one had taken the time to actually _help._ It had just been one sad face after another. A parade of all the failures of Emma's life without a single kind face among them.

Emma pushed the dark thoughts away and straightened slightly, beginning her story. "I don't know if you know all the details of Henry running away from Regina – Mayor Mills – to Boston to come and find me." When the Mother Superior shook her head in the negative, Emma knew that she at least had her interest. It was time to see how much she knew. "He came to find me because he'd been given a book that was full of stories that he found parallels to in his own life. He thinks his mom's the Evil Queen in the stories."

The Mother Superior's face was impassive, but there was a little glint in the corner of her eye that Emma recognized. She'd seen it in Regina and in Gold. Perhaps it was an indicator of skill with magic, she didn't really know. "Maybe he's right," she said neutrally. When Emma looked up at her sharply, she added, perhaps a bit too quickly, "But not in the _literal_ sense, if that makes any sense. Maybe he sees her as some sort of all-powerful person in his life and this is his rebelling against that control." She shrugged. "I'm not a psychologist, Sheriff Swan, but I do think that he was probably too young to be told he was adopted. I'm sure that that, rather than his book of fairy tales, is really what this is all about. Add your presence into the mix and I think I can almost understand why he's still being so rebellious."

"Guess I can see that," Emma sighed. Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet. "It gives me something to think about, at any rate."

"Glad I could be of help," the Mother Superior replied with a friendly smile that didn't reach her eyes. Emma's fingers moved to her hip, but her gun wasn't there – nor was the sword. She felt almost naked without either of them as she thanked the nuns for their hospitality and warned them to be on the lookout for particularly menacing-looking strays.

It wasn't until she was back in her car that Emma finally allowed herself to breathe, and to think about what the Mother Superior had said. As she drove away from the nunnery she found herself replaying the conversation over and over in her mind. The double speak that she was so used to with Gold and Regina was there, cutting like a knife through her consciousness and Emma sighed, pausing at a stop sign to rest her head against the wheel and allow the feelings of defeat to wash over her.

The curse wasn't supposed to include hangers-on. That was the point of it, at least as Regina told the story. Emma supposed that she was in a rather unique position to lie if she felt so inclined, but there had been abject honesty in Regina's voice as she'd explained what the exact nature of the curse truly was. Emma couldn't stomach it, not even now.

How the hell did anyone do something like that? How could they be so nonchalant about it now? What was the point of even bringing Rumpelstiltskin, the fairies, even Snow White along? They were all enemies to what Emma supposed was Regina's eventual peace. So why bring them along at all? The whole idea seemed like a foreign concept to her. If she wanted to run away – and she'd done her fair share of doing just that in her life, the absolute last thing she'd do would be to bring along reminders of what she was trying to get away from.

Behind her, a car beeped and Emma turned, scowling at the truck and wondering if she could invent a reason to give him a ticket just because he was a rude asshole. It wasn't worth it in the end, she decided, and turned down the road that would lead back to town. She just didn't understand it, but she was convinced of one thing: The Mother Superior was well aware of what was happening in the town.

Chewing the idea over in her mind, Emma headed back towards the station. She had no reason to share this information with Regina, not yet. Emma was pretty sure that both she and Henry would be holed up in the archives until late that evening anyway. Henry had an essay to write and there was a computer in the archivist's office that Regina had secured him permission to use.

Resolving to take the cruiser home with her that evening because she had the sinking suspicion that she would be out looking for more fairy rings under the cover of darkness, Emma hung a left and pulled into the parking lot of Mary Margaret's apartment some ten minutes later. She shivered as she collected her keys and things from the backseat and headed inside, taking the steps two at a time, desperate to get into the warmth of the apartment.

It was way too damn cold in Maine.

Emma kicked off her boots and hung up her jacket, bending to hunt through the shoe rack for her house shoes. Her bones ached even now. Before they'd fallen asleep, Regina had posed a theory that whatever magic Emma was using to close the fairy ring portals to the other world was taking a great deal out of her. Emma didn't even think that she had that sort of magic, but Regina had just looked at her sadly and had shaken her head.

"You are made of the most powerful magic of all," Regina had explained, her eyes seeming to glow in the winter moonlight that streamed through the half-open blinds of her bedroom window. Despite the lateness of the hour and the soporific effect of what they'd spent the better part of an hour doing, Emma found her struck by how beautiful Regina was. She'd been trying to ignore the feelings of doubt and of attraction that she'd been desperately attempting to stave off ever since she'd fallen into bed with Regina. It wasn't a good idea for them to get involved, Emma knew that, and she was sure that Regina knew it as well. And yet, somehow, Emma couldn't help herself. She _liked_ it. Liked how Regina made her feel, and how Regina seemed to relax when she was alone with Emma. "It would be foolish of anyone to underestimate your power."

There was a small sound from the kitchen and Emma turned, slippers still clutched in one hand. Mary Margaret was standing in the kitchen, her shoulders hunched as she leaned over the sink. It made Emma's heart ache, looking at her. It had been Snow White's love - Mary Margaret's love - that had given her life in a time when nothing was certain and everything was chaotic.

Henry's book told the story of Emma's birth, talking about James' bravery and Snow's desperate attempts to do anything possible to stop the steady and sure advance of the Evil Queen's curse. It was only when she'd finally read that story that she truly understood why Henry was so desperate for her to hate Regina because he couldn't do it himself. Regina had taken her childhood from her; she'd denied Emma the mother than he himself possessed.

_But,_ Emma thought, dropping her shoes to the floor and sliding her feet into them, _Snow and James took it from me as well._ They had pushed her into a world all on her lonesome and had hoped she'd survive long enough to save them. Regina had merely provided the impetus. No one was without blame, as she'd insisted to Henry just a few days ago. There was good and evil, but there was good people doing evil things and vice versa.

She moved to stand behind Mary Margaret, her hand tentatively resting on her shoulder. She couldn't help but feel her heart plummet to somewhere around her knees when Mary Margaret flinched away from her tentative fingers. "Hey," Emma said, her brow furrowed. Her tone was quiet and carefully neutral. She didn't know what, exactly, she'd walked in on. "You okay?"

Mary Margaret turned to look at her, almost stiffening as she gazed at Emma with eyes that seemed almost lost. "I..." she began, but looked away before Emma could see her face crumple again.

"Did David do something again, because I swear to god-" Emma let out an exasperated sigh, knowing that he hadn't. The spark that she'd seen in Mary Margaret's eyes was unlike anything that she'd ever seen before. She'd seen something like it in David's eyes when he'd been over for dinner a few days ago.

She was remembering.

"No," Mary Margaret replied with the sort of shaky laugh that seemed almost hysterical to him. "He... He didn't do anything at all."

"Then what's the matter?" Emma asked, glancing to the steaming pot of water on the stove and the carefully measured out ingredients to a simple meal of pasta and sauce set on the counter beside her. She moved over and threw the pasta in the water, turning the heat down and allowing Mary Margaret a minute to collect herself.

"Do you ever feel like you've made the worst decision of your life, even though you know it was the right one?" Emma had reached for the jar of sauce (home canned, by the look of it. There was no label and it smelled delicious. She turned to glance at Mary Margaret. She was leaning against the counter, her arms wrapped around herself. She looked for all the world like she was adrift in the sea without a paddle to steer herself to safety.

Emma's mind flashed back to the insistent pull of hands in her hair and teeth on her bottom lip, biting and drawing her to new heights of lust and sheer wanting that she had come apart with a few words and well placed touches. "All the time," she said before twisting the top off of the jar of sauce and reaching for the small saucepan that Mary Margaret had set out. "I think that's why it's a hard decision, though. Because it doesn't feel good to make it a bad choice."

Letting them take Henry hadn't felt good at all, but Emma had known even at that impossibly young age, that it was the right decision to make. She supposed that she was just like Snow White in that respect. She'd had a child for the briefest of instances, before she'd been forced to give it up to an uncertain future.

_At least Henry found Regina,_ Emma thought darkly, her mind drifting back to foster homes of her youth.

"I suppose," Mary Margaret replied. She still wasn't looking at Emma, and Emma was pretty sure that she knew why. She didn't know if she was taking to her friend or the woman who was once her mother now. She wasn't sure how that part of Regina's curse worked. She didn't know if she wanted to know.

Regina wasn't the sort of person who would plan for that sort of an eventuality by Emma's estimation. No, even though she seemed cool and collected most of the time, Emma knew that she was ruled by her passions. Emotion, rather than years of careful planning, had brought about the casting of the curse. The stories seemed to indicate that it was the last of many options already exhausted.

Emma chewed on her lip, wondering if it was Gold who had planned for such an eventuality. The curse hadn't been erected exactly as planned, that much was for sure. There wasn't supposed to be magic in this world at all, and yet the queen's blood and promise of favor had been enough to draw forth the sword in her chest.

That power slept within Regina, and it was only a matter of speculation to wonder what else lay there.

They were really similar in that respect.

And Emma wanted her. The magic and the power were intoxicating, and the promise of fealty was one that Emma could stomach. She understood what it meant, she understood and she hated that it had been thrust into the situation so desperately. She didn't mind that part of being the one destined to break the curse.

And the answers to the dreams were coming to Emma slowly. Somehow she knew that all would be explained in time.

"I missed you," Mary Margaret said after the silence between them had grown almost impossible to stomach.

Tilting her head to the side, Emma glanced over to peer at Mary Margaret. Any doubt that she'd had about the weakening of the curse flew from her as she saw the warmth of her mother's eyes for the first time she could remember.

"I ah..." Emma stuttered, her cheeks coloring and desperately wishing that she could be anywhere else. She hated the nagging part of her consciousness, the part that wanted to run and hide before the curse did break. She couldn't mentally face that idea of loving parents now, when they still didn't really remember. Emma hated to think what it would be like to face them when they did. "I missed you too."

db

Emma bought two cups of coffee from the diner the following morning, trying to shake the feeling of malcontent that had kept her up half the night. She'd gone to bed not long after dinner, and had very pointedly ignored the quiet presence looking in on her sleeping that night. It was a Saturday, and Mary Margaret had looked rather forlorn as Emma had packed herself a lunch and had headed out into the bitingly cold wind off the harbor. "Dinner tonight?" Emma had suggested.

"Sure," Mary Margaret had agreed.

She was headed to the City Hall. She wasn't due at the station for two hours yet, and she wanted to see if Regina had made any progress with her research project. The previous night all Emma had received was a terse text demanding the exact whereabouts of the other rings that Emma had destroyed and a few questions about the nature of the portals. Emma hadn't really had much to say on the matter, as she had no experience with the supernatural or the idea of such magic even existing and Regina had told her to get some sleep and to come to see her in the morning.

"Emma!" Henry's voice cut across the frost-covered green and Emma froze. She gripped the coffee cups in her gloved hands tightly and turned around, trying to give Henry the best smile she could possibly around. She didn't know how to force her expression into a happy, neutral one.

She _really_ wasn't cut out to parent.

She had things she wanted to discuss with Regina, things that could absolutely not be discussed with Henry present. "Hey kid," she said. She kept her tone as even as she could possibly force it to be, but it still wavered just this side of curt. Henry grinned up at her from under a floppy wool hat and a bright smile. "I was just going to see your mom."

Henry didn't reply for a minute, before he shrugged and let Emma lead him into the building and up the flight of stairs into Regina's office. Henry opened the door helpfully for Emma and Emma stepped after him into the stark black and white of Regina's impeccably decorated office and regarded what looked like a bomb site.

There were papers everywhere, stacked on the coffee table and across the desk and work table. There was a small pile of them on the sofa and a forgotten coffee cup next to a precariously placed rolled-up plan on the low bookshelf by Emma's elbow. Emma let out a low whistle, finding Regina hunched over a map at the middle of the room, several reference books that probably were not of this world propped open all around her and a ruler and red sharpie in one hand.

"Henry," She said quickly, looking up with an alarmed expression on her face. Emma could see the realization and fear in her eyes and was shocked her face stayed perfectly warm and friendly as she stared across the room at her son. She made no move to hide what she was doing, and as Henry picked curiously across the room towards her Emma could feel the weight of the truth crashing down around him.

He looked from Emma, coffee still steaming in her hands, to Regina and her ruler, and back again. His eyes were wide and his lips formed words that made no sound as Emma hurriedly crossed the room and shoved some blue prints aside to set the coffee cups down in case he bolted. The incident at the mine was still fresh in her memory, despite having happened what felt like _years_ ago, and with the wintery cold firmly in place, the last thing that Emma wanted was to have to hunt down a distraught ten year old in the snow.

"Henry..." his name came out a low whisper from Emma's lips and she wasn't even sure that he'd heard her. Emma looked at him with sad eyes and waited, wondering what he'd do now that all of his worst suspicions were revealed to be true.

"You can't be..." He said quietly, launching himself at his surprised-looking mother. His muddy boots left wet footprints across the papers that scattered the floor as he catapulted himself into Regina's very surprised arms. "You can't be, you can't be, you can't be..." He kept repeating it over and over again like a mantra and Emma felt a lump grow in her throat.

They had never discussed what might happen should Henry discover the truth. Emma supposed that it had never really come up. There was the understanding that Henry was aware of what was happening, even if he still wasn't all that solid on the details. Still, it hurt to see him realize what was going on. Emma knew that it would be a long time before he forgave her for lying as she had to him, and she knew that she'd take that responsibility without questioning it. She had lied to him. She and Regina both.

Now they had to make it right.

Regina's voice came through like a revelation then, and Emma swallowed hard, forcing the lump down as she spoke, "Perhaps I was, once," Regina's voice was quiet and low, full of affection that Emma had rarely heard, even when she was talking to her son in the past. "But that was a long time ago."

Henry's eyes were brimming with tears when he finally pulled himself up to stare in her face. Emma wondered what it must feel like, to desperately want to be correct, but then realize that you were and the only person who has ever truly _loved _you is the reason why so many are trapped and suffering. "Then why..."

"I ... I wanted to punish the people who had hurt me, but I also wanted to escape that place. I was so angry, Henry. I was so angry and so sad all the time; I would have done anything to feel happy again." Regina sighed and smoothed the tears from his cheeks.

"Do you feel happy?" Henry demanded. His chin was stuck out defiantly, a gesture that Emma knew well from his mother's face. He bore so little resemblance to her that she sometimes wondered if he truly was her child at all. He was so like his mother in so many ways, and yet he didn't seem to realize it. "Did hurting all those people make you happy?"

"No, Henry," Regina said quietly. She sighed and glanced towards Emma before turning her attention back to Henry. The look in her eyes spoke volumes to Emma; it was full of desperation and a plea for understanding. "I thought it would, but it didn't." She touched her finger to his forehead. "But I don't regret it, because I wouldn't have met you."

"Or Emma," Henry retorted stubbornly.

Regina's smile was slow and predatory as she looked towards Emma once more. Emma felt a shiver of fear run down her spine, wondering what on Earth could spur such a mercurial mood from Regina. "Oh, I think that Emma and I would have met anyway, Henry. I promised her my favor on the day she was born, after all."

"You did?" Emma and Henry demanded and almost the same time.

Regina shifted Henry to one side and regarded Emma with a contemplative look. Emma thought of the witch in her dreams and her own cursed wanderings, desperate to find her queen. Maybe it wasn't about longing for a picture-perfect childhood after all. Emma's jaw hardened as she thought of the story in Henry's book. Nothing like that had happened in the story.

She inclined her head to Henry and Emma nodded slowly, realization dawning on her.

In this story, Regina wasn't the enemy. She wanted to keep the peace, to keep the town safe from the evils of the creatures that were coming through the fairy ring portals into the other world. In this story, Henry could see the once-evil queen as the sort of anti-hero. Not particularly good, but not bad either.

And maybe that was what Henry needed.

"Emma's been helping me," Regina explained quietly, directing Henry's attention to the books and careful diagram of the town and surrounding countryside. The fairy rings that Emma had already destroyed were marked off in black, but the others, the ones that were only educated guesses were marked in red. Red lines slashed across the map as a whole in a tangled sort of spiraled web that lead outwards from several points on the map. Emma recognized the old well up in the woods, as well as the town's central green, and the clearing where the Minotaur had appeared. _These must be the lay lines_, Emma realized, bending forward to get a better look.

"Someone is trying to break the curse," Regina continued. "They want to let magic that doesn't belong here into this world. Emma's been helping me to try and stop it."

"But Emma's supposed to break-"

"I know, Henry." Regina said sharply. He stared at her like he was about to cry once more, before her expression softened and she added in a far more friendly tone, "Sometimes what is intended and what actually takes place are two very different things."

Henry's chin wobbled slightly and he stared at her, as though he was desperate to forget the past ten minutes. Emma didn't blame him; this was a harsh as hell way to find out that all your worst fears were true. At least Regina was being honest with him, and giving him straight answers. She wasn't apologizing, and she certainly wasn't going to do him the disservice of lying to him anymore.

"But why did you lie to me?" He asked quietly.

"Henry, I lie to everyone," Regina replied in an even tone. "All I do all day is tell lies to people I used to know but scarcely recognize anymore. When I... When I cast the spell I thought it would make me happy, to lord my memories over them, but it doesn't. Not really."

Emma shifted, feeling like an intruder and picked up one of the coffee cups from the desk. She quietly crossed to the door and let herself out of the room, leaving the little boy and the once-evil queen to their conversation.

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_Well. _That_ certainly came out unexpectedly_.

It's as you said before, the Queen put her hair into the spell twice. She is her own worst enemy.

_And then what of the fairies then? Are we meant to believe that their intentions are as evil as they seem?_

Hummmm. I say they just want to go home. They're magical beings, just like you or I or even the Dark One. They're not used to a place where there is no magic.

_That's a puzzle we may never solve._

* * *

an: Thank you for the excellent feedback. I'm trying to show the curse slowly dissolving around them all. Hopefully to good results? Please let me know.

Next: The Confrontation


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